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Bernardin de St Pierre. 






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Of Concres* 

^wo Copies Receded 
AUG 27 1900 

Copyright entry 

U.UOk 

SECOND COPY. 

Dfc^ve«**< to 

OMOLU DIVISION, 

SEP 8 1900 



COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY W. B. CONKEY COMPANY 



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PREFACE. 



In introducing to the Public the present 
edition of this well-known and affecting Tale, 
— the chef-d'oeuvre of its gifted author, the 
publishers take occasion to say, that it affords 
them no little gratification to apprise the nu- 
merous admirers of "Paul and Virginia," that 
the entire work of St. Pierre is now presented 
to them. All the previous editions have been 
disfigured by interpolations, and mutilated by 
numerous omissions and alterations, which 
have had the effect of reducing it from the 
rank of a Philosophical Tale to the level of a 
mere story for children. 

Of the merits of "Paul and Virginia," it is 
hardly necessary to utter a word ; it tells its 
own story eloquently and impressively, and in 
a language simple, natural and true, it touches 
the common heart of the world. There are 
but few works that have obtained a greater 
degree of popularity, none are more deserv- 
ing it ; and the publishers cannot, therefore, 
refrain from expressing a hope that their 

3 



4 PREFACE. 

efforts in thus giving a faithful transcript of 
the work, — an acknowledged classic by the 
European world, — may be, in some degree, 
instrumental in awakening here, at home, a 
taste for those higher works of Fancy, which, 
while they seek to elevate and strengthen the 
understanding, instruct and purify the heart. 
It is in this character that the Tale of "Paul 
and Virginia' ' ranks pre-eminent. 



MEMOIR 

OF 

BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 



Love of Nature, that strong feeling of 
enthusiasm which leads to profound admira- 
tion of the whole works of creation, belongs, it 
may be presumed, to a certain peculiarity of 
organization, and has, no doubt, existed in 
different individuals from the beginning of 
the world. The old poets and philosophers, 
romance writers and troubadours had all looked 
upon Nature with observing and admiring eyes. 
They have most of them given incidentally 
charming pictures of spring, of the setting sun, 
of particular spots, and of favorite flowers. 

There are few writers of note, of any country 
or of any age, from whom quotations might not 
be made in proof of the love with which they 
regarded Nature. And this remark applies as 
much to religious and philosophic writers as 
to poets, — equally to Plato, St. Francois de 

5 



6 MEMOIR OF 

Sales, Bacon and Fenelon, as to Shakespeare, 
Racine, Calderon, or Burns; for from no 
really philosophic or religious doctrine can the 
love of the works of Nature be excluded. 

But before the days of Jean Jacques Rous- 
seau, Buffon, and Bernardin de St. Pierre, this 
love of Nature had not been expressed in all 
its intensity. Until their day, it had not been 
written on exclusively. The lovers of Nature 
were not, till then, as they may perhaps since 
be considered, a sect apart. Though perfectly 
sincere in all the adoration they offered, they 
were less entirely, and certainly less diligently 
and constantly, her adorers. 

It is the great praise of Bernardin de St. 
Pierre, that coming immediately after Rous- 
seau and Buffon and being one of the most 
proficient writers of the same school, he was in 
no degree their imitator, but perfectly original 
and new. He intuitively perceived the 
immensity of the subject he intended to 
explore, and has told us that no day of his life 
passed without his collecting some valuable 
materials for his writings. In the divine works 
of Nature, he diligently sought to discover her 
laws. It was his early intention not to begin 
to write until he had ceased to observe ; but he 
found observation endless, and that he was 



BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 7 

"like a child, who with a shell digs a hole in 
the sand to receive the waters of the ocean. " 
He elsewhere humbly says, that not only the 
general history of Nature, but even that of the 
smallest plant, was far beyond his ability. 
Before, however, speaking further of him as 
an author, it will be necessary to recapitulate 
the chief events of his life. 

Henri-Jacques Bernardin de St. Pierre was 
born at Havre in 1737. He always considered 
himself descended from Eustache de St. Pierre, 
who is said by Froissart (and I believe by 
Froissart only) to have so generously offered 
himself as a victim to appease the wrath of 
Edward the Third against Calais. He, with 
his companions in virtue, it is also said, was 
saved by the intercession of Queen Philippa. 
In one of his smaller works, Bernardin asserts 
this descent, and it was certainly one of which 
he might be proud. Many anecdotes are 
related of his childhood, indicative of the youth- 
ful author,— of his strong love of Nature, and 
his humanity to animals. 

That "the child is father of the man," has 
been seldom more strongly illustrated. There 
is a story of a cat, which, when related by him 
many years afterward to Rousseau, caused that 
philosopher to shed tears. At eight years of 



8 MEMOIR OF 

age, he took the greatest pleasure in the reg- 
ular culture of his garden ; and possibly then 
stored up some of the ideas which afterward 
appeared in the 4 * Fraisier. ' ' His sympathy with 
all living things was extreme. 

In "Paul and Virginia/' he praises, with 
evident satisfaction, their meal of milk and 
e ggf s > which had not cost any animal its life. 
It has been remarked, and possibly with truth, 
that every tenderly disposed heart, deeply 
imbued with a love of Nature, is at times some- 
what Braminical. St. Pierre's certainly was. 

When quite young, he advanced with a 
clenched fist toward a carter who was ill-treat- 
ing a horse. And when taken for the first 
time, by his father, to Rouen, having the 
towers of the cathedral pointed out to him, he 
exclaimed, "My God! how high they fly." 
Every one present naturally laughed. Ber- 
nardin had only noticed the flight of some 
swallows who had built their nests there. He 
thus early revealed those instincts which after- 
ward became the guidance of his life: the 
strength of which possibly occasioned his too 
great indifference to all monuments of art. 
The love of study and of solitude were also 
characteristics of his childhood. His temper 
is said to have been moody, impetuous, and 



BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 9 

intractable. Whether this faulty temper may 
not have been produced or rendered worse by 
mismanagement, cannot now be ascertained. 
It undoubtedly became afterward, to St. 
Pierre, a fruitful source of misfortune and of 
woe. 

The reading of voyages was with him, even 
in childhood, almost a passion. At twelve 
years of age, his whole soul was occupied by 
Robinson Crusoe and his island. His romantic 
love of adventure seeming to his parents to 
announce a predilection in favor of the sea, he 
was sent by them with one of his uncles to 
Martinique. But St. Pierre had not sufficiently 
practiced the virtue of obedience to submit, as 
was necessary to the discipline of a ship. He 
was afterward placed with the Jesuits at Caen, 
with whom he made immense progress in his 
studies. But, it is to be feared, he did not 
conform too well to the regulations of the col- 
lege, for he conceived, from that time, the 
greatest detestation for places of public educa- 
tion. And this aversion he has frequently 
testified in his writings. While devoted to his 
books of travels, he in turn anticipated being a 
Jesuit, a missionary or a martyr ; but his family 
at length succeeded in establishing him at 
Rouen, where he completed his studies with 



JO MEMOIR OF 

brilliant success, in 1757. He soon after 
obtained a commission as an engineer, with a 
salary of one hundred louis. In this capacity 
he was sent (1760) to Dtisseldorf, tinder the 
command of Count St. Germain. This was a 
career in which he might have acquired both 
honor and fortune ; but, most unhappily for St. 
Pierre, he looked upon the useful and neces- 
sary etiquettes of life of as many unworthy 
prejudices. Instead of conforming to them, 
he sought to trample on them. In addition, 
he evinced some disposition to rebel against 
his commander, and was unsocial with his 
equals. It is not, therefore, to be wondered 
at, that at this unfortunate period of his exist- 
ence, he made himself enemies ; or that, not- 
withstanding his great talents, or the coolness 
he had exhibited in moments of danger, he 
should have been sent back to France. Unwel- 
come, under these circumstances, to his fam- 
ily, he was ill received by all. 

It is a lesson yet to be learned, that genius 
gives no charter for the indulgence of error, 
— a truth yet to be remembered, that only a 
small portion of the world will look with len- 
iency on the failings of the highly gifted ; and, 
that from themselves, the consequences of their 
own actions can never be averted. It is yet, 



BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 11 

alas ! to be added to the convictions of the ar- 
dent in mind, that no degree of excellence in 
science or literature, not even the immortality 
of a name, can exempt its possessor from obe- 
dience to moral discipline ; or give him happi- 
ness, unless "temper's image' ' be stamped on 
his daily words and actions. St. Pierre's life 
was sadly embittered by his own conduct. 
The adventurous life he led after his return 
from Dusseldorf, some of the circumstances of 
which exhibited him in an unfavorable light 
to others, tended, perhaps, to tinge his imag- 
ination with that wild and tender melancholy 
sp prevalent in his writings. A prize in the 
lottery had just doubled his very slender means 
of existence, when he obtained the appoint- 
ment of geographical engineer, and was sent 
to Malta. The Knights of the Order were at 
this time expecting to be attacked by the 
Turks. Having already been in the service, it 
was singular that St. Pierre should have had 
the imprudence to sail without his commis- 
sion. He thus subjected himself to a thousand 
disagreeables, for the officers would not recog- 
nize him as one of themselves. The effects of 
their neglect on his mind were tremendous; 
his reason for a time seemed almost disturbed 
by the mortifications he suffered. After receiv- 



12 MEMOrR OF 

ing an insufficient indemnity for the expenses 
of his voyage, St. Pierre returned to France, 
there to endure fresh misfortunes. 

Not being able to obtain any assistance from 
the ministry or his family y he resolved on giv- 
ing lessons in the mathematics. But St. Pierre 
was less adapted than most others for succeed- 
ing in the apparently easy, but really ingeni- 
ous and difficult, art of teaching. When edu- 
cation is better understood, it will be more gen- 
erally acknowledged, that, to impart instruction 
with success, a teacher must possess deeper in- 
telligence than is implied by the profoundest 
skill in any one branch of science or of art. 
All minds, even to the youngest, require, while 
being taught, the utmost compliance and con- 
sideration ; and these qualities can scarcely be 
properly exercised without a true knowledge 
of the human heart, united to much practical 
patience. St. Pierre, at this period of his life, 
certainly did not possess them. It is probable 
that Rousseau, when he attempted in his youth 
to give lessons in music, not knowing anything 
whatever of music, was scarcely less fitted for 
the task of instruction than St. Pierre with all 
his mathematical knowledge. The pressure of 
poverty drove him to Holland. He was well 
received at Amsterdam, by a French refugee 



BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 13 

named Mustel, who edited a popular journal 
there, and who procured him employment, with 
handsome remuneration. St. Pierre did not, 
however, remain long* satisfied with this quiet 
mode of existence. Allured by the encourag- 
ing reception given by Catherine II. to foreign- 
ers, he set out for St. Petersburg. Here, until 
he obtained the protection of the Marechal de 
Munich, and the friendship of Duval, he had 
again to contend with poverty. The latter 
generously opened to him his purse, and by the 
Marechal he was introduced to Villebois the 
Grand Master of Artillery, and by him pre- 
sented to the Empress. St. Pierre was so 
handsome, that by some of his friends it was 
supposed, perhaps, too, hoped, that he would 
supersede Orloff in the favor of Catherine. But 
more honorable illusions, though they were 
but illusions, occupied his own mind. He nei- 
ther sought nor wished to captivate the Em- 
press. His ambition was to establish a repub- 
lic on the shores of the lake Aral, of which, in 
imitation of Plato or Rousseau, he was to be 
the legislator. Preoccupied with the reforma- 
tion of despotism, he did not sufficiently look 
into his own heart, or seek to avoid a repeti- 
tion of the same errors that had already 
changed friends into enemies, and been such a 



14 MEMOIR OF 

terrible barrier to his success in life. His min< 
was already morbid, and in fancying that 
others did not understand him, he forgot that 
he did not understand others. The Empress, 
with the rank of captain, bestowed on him a 
grant of fifteen hundred francs; but when 
General Dubosquet proposed to take him with 
him to examine the military position of 
Finland, his only anxiety seemed to be to 
return to France; still he went to Finland,* 
and his own notes of his occupations and 
experiments on that expedition prove, that he 
gave himself up in all diligence to considera- 
tions of attack and defense. He, who loved 
Nature so intently, seems only to have seen in 
the extensive and majestic forests of the north, 
a theater of war. In this instance, he appears 
to have stifled every emotion of admiration, 
and to have beheld, alike, cities and countries 
in his character of military surveyor. 

On his return to St. Petersburg, he found 
his protector, Villebois, disgraced. St. Pierre 
then resolved on espousing the cause of the 
Poles. He went into Poland with a high repu- 
tation, — that of having refused the favors of 
despotism, to aid the cause of liberty. But it 
was his private life, rather than his public ca- 
reer, that was affected by his residence in Po- 



~$ERNARDIN DE ST, PIERRE. 15 

land. The Princess Mary fell in love with him, 
and, forgetful of all considerations, quitted her 
family to reside with him. Yielding, however, 
at length, to the entreaties of her mother, she 
returned to her home. St. Pierre, filled with 
regret, resorted to Vienna ; but, unable to sup- 
port the sadness which oppressed him, and im- 
agining that sadness to be shared by the Prin- 
cess, he soon went back to Poland. His return 
was still more sad than his departure ; for he 
found himself regarded by her who had once 
loved him, as an intruder. It is to this attach- 
ment he alludes so touchingly in one of his let- 
ters. "Adieu! friends dearer than the treas- 
ures of India ! Adieu ! forests of the North, 
that I shall never see again ! — tender friend- 
ship, and the still dearer sentiments which 
surpassed it ! — days of intoxication and of hap- 
piness! adieu! adieu! We live but for a day, 
to die during a whole life!" 

This letter appears to one of St. Pierre's 
most partial biographers, as if steeped in tears ; 
and he speaks of his romantic and unfortunate 
adventure in Poland, as the ideal of a poet's 
love. 

"To be," says M. Sainte-Beuve, "a great 
poet, and loved before he had thought of glory ! 
To exhale the first perfume of a soul of genius, 



16 MEMOIR OF 

believing himself only a lover ! To reveal him- 
self, for the first time, entirely, but in mys- 
tery !" 

In his enthusiasm, M. Sainte-Beuve loses 
sight of the melancholy sequel, which must 
have left so sad a remembrance in St. Pierre's 
own mind. His suffering, from this circum- 
stance may perhaps have conduced to his mak- 
ing Virginia so good and true, and so incapable 
of giving pain. 

In 1766, he returned to Havre; but his rela- 
tion, were by this time dead or dispersed, and 
after six years of exile, he found himself once 
more in his own country, without employment 
and destitute of pecuniary resources. 

The Baron de Breteuil at length obtained for 
him a commission as Engineer to the Isle of 
France, whence he returned in 177 1. In this 
interval, his heart and imagination doubtless 
received the germs of his immortal works. 
Many of the events, indeed, of the " Voyage a 
Tile de France," are to be found modified by 
imagined circumstances in "Paul and Vir- 
ginia." He returned to Paris poor in purse, 
but rich in observation and mental resources, 
and resolved to devote himself to literature. By 
the Baron de Breteuil he was recommended to 
D'A1 ember t, who procured a publisher for his 



BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 17 

" Voyage, " and also introduced him to Mile, 
de l'Espinasse. 

But no one, in spite of his great beauty, was 
so ill calculated to shine or please in society 
as St. Pierre. His manners were timid and 
embarrassed, and, unless to those with whom 
he was very intimate, he scarcely appeared 
intelligent. 

It is sad to think, that misunderstanding 
should prevail to such an extent, and heart so 
seldom really speak to heart, in the intercourse 
of the world, that the most humane may appear 
cruel, and the sympathizing indifferent. Judg- 
ing of Mile, de l'Espinasse from her letters, 
and the testimony of her contemporaries, it 
seems quite impossible that she could have 
given pain to any one, more particularly to a 
man possessing St. Pierre's extraordinary and 
profound sensibility. Both she and D'Alem- 
bert were capable of appreciating him ; but the 
society in which they moved laughed at his 
timidity, and the tone of raillery in which they 
often indulged was not understood by him. It 
is certain that he withdrew from their circle 
with wounded and mortified feelings, and, in 
spite of an explanatory letter from D'Alem- 
bert, did not return to it. The inflictors of all 
this pain, in the meantime, were possibly as 

2 Paul and Virginia 



18 MEMOIR OF 

unconscious of the meaning attached to their 
words, as were the birds of old of the augury 
drawn from their flight. 

St. Pierre, in his "Preambule de l'Arcadie, " 
has pathetically and eloquently described the 
deplorable state of his health and feelings, 
after frequent humiliating disputes and disap- 
pointments had driven him from society; or, 
rather, when, like Rousseau, he was " self-ban- 
ished" from it. 

"I was struck," he says, "with an extraordi- 
nary malady. Streams of fire, like lightning, 
flashed before my eyes; every object appeared 
to me double, or in motion; like (Edipus, I 
saw two suns. * * In the finest day of summer, 
I could not cross the Seine in a boat without 
experiencing intolerable anxiety. If, in a pub- 
lic garden, I merely passed by a piece of water, 
I suffered from spasms and a feeling of horror. 
I could not cross a garden in which many peo- 
ple were collected : if they looked at me, I im- 
mediately imagined they were speaking ill of 
me." It was during this state of suffering that 
he devoted himself with ardor to collecting and 
making use of materials for that work which 
was to give glory to his name. 

It was only by perseverance, and disregard- 
ing many rough and discouraging receptions, 



BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 19 

that he succeeded in making acquaintance with 
Rousseau, whom he so much resembled. St. 
Pierre devoted himself to his society with en- 
thusiasm, visiting him frequently and con- 
stantly, till Rousseau departed for Ermenon- 
ville. It is not unworthy of remark, that both 
these men, such enthusiastic admirers of Na- 
ture and the natural in all things, should have 
possessed factitious rather than practical vir- 
tue, and a wisdom wholly unfitted for the 
world. St. Pierre asked Rousseau, in one of 
their frequent rambles, if in delineating St. 
Preux, he had not intended to represent him- 
self. "No," replied Rousseau, "St. Preux is 
not what I have been, but what I wish to be." 
St. Pierre would most likely have given the 
same answer, had a similar question been put 
to him with regard to the Colonel in "Paul 
and Virginia. ' ■ This, at least, appears the sort 
of old age he loved to contemplate, and wished 
to realize. 

For six years, he worked at his "Etudes/' 
and with some difficulty found a publisher for 
them. M. Didot, a celebrated typographer, 
whose daughter St. Pierre afterwards married, 
consented to print a manuscript which had been 
declined by many others. He was well re- 
warded for the undertaking. The success of 



20 MEMOIR OF 

the " Etudes de la Nature'' surpassed the most 
sanguine expectation, even of the author. 
Four years after its publication, St. Pierre gave 
to the world "Paul and Virginia," which had 
for some time been lying in his portfolio. He 
had tried its effect, in manuscript, on persons 
of different characters and pursuits. They 
had given it no applause, but all had shed 
tears at its perusal ; and perhaps few works of 
a decidedly romantic character have ever been 
so generally read, or so much approved. 
Among the great names whose admiration of 
it is on record, may be mentioned Napoleon 
and Humboldt. 

In 1789, he published "Les Voeux d'un Soli- 
taire," and "La Suite des Voeux." By the 
"Moniteur" of the day, these works were com- 
pared to the celebrated pamphlet of Sieyes, — 
"Qu'est-ce que le tiers etat?" which then ab- 
sorbed all the public favor. In 1791, "La 
Chaumiere Indienne" was published; and in 
the following year, about thirteen days before 
the celebrated 10th of August, Louis XVI. 
appointed St. Pierre superintendent of the 
"Jardin des Plantes. " Soon afterwards, the 
King, on seeing him, complimented him on 
his writings, and told him he was happy to 
have found a worthy successor to Bufion. 



BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 21 

Although deficient in the exact knowledge of 
the sciences, and knowing little of the world, 
St. Pierre was, by his simplicity, and the re- 
tirement in which he lived, well suited, at that 
epoch, to the situation. About this time, and 
when in his fifty-seventh year, he married Mile. 
Didot. 

In 1795, h e became a member of the French 
Assembly, and, as was just^ after his accept- 
ance of this honor, he wrote no more against 
literary societies. On the suppression of this 
place, he retired to Essome It is delightful 
to follow him there, and to contemplate his 
quiet existence. His days flowed on peace- 
ably, occupied in the publication of '*Les Har- 
monies de la Nature/' the republication of his 
earlier works, and the composition of some 
lesser pieces. He himself affectingly regrets 
an interruption to these occupations. On be- 
ing appointed Instructor to the Normal School, 
he says, ' * I am obliged to hang my harp on 
the willows of my river, and to accept an em- 
ployment useful to my family and my country. 
I am afflicted at having to suspend an occupa- 
tion which has given me so much happiness/ ' 

He enjoyed in his old age a degree of opu- 
lence which, as much as glory, had perhaps 
been the object of his ambition. In any case, 



22 MEMOIR OF 

it is gratifying to reflect, that after a life so full 
of chance and change, he was, in his latter 
years, surrounded by much that should accom- 
pany old age. His day of storms and tempests 
was closed by an evening of repose and beauty. 

Amid many other blessings, the elasticity of 
his mind was preserved to the last. He died 
at Eragny sur l'Oise, on the 21st of January, 
1 814. The stirring events which then occu- 
pied France, or rather the whole world, caused 
his death to be little noticed at the time. The 
Academy did not, however, neglect to give him 
the honor due to its members. Mons. Parseval 
Grand Maison pronounced a deserved eulogium 
on his talents, and Mons. Aignan, also, the 
customary tribute, taking his seat as his suc- 
cessor. 

Having himself contracted the habit of con- 
fiding his griefs and sorrows to the public, the 
sanctuary of his private life was open alike to 
the discussion of friends and enemies. The 
biographer, who wishes to be exact, and yet 
set down naught in malice, is forced to the con- 
templation of his errors. The secret of many 
of these, as well as of his miseries, seems re- 
vealed by himself in this sentence: "I experi- 
ence more pain from a single thorn, than pleas- 
ure from a thousand roses." And elsewhere, 



" 



BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 23 

"The best society seems to me bad, if I find in 
it one troublesome, wicked, slanderous, envi- 
ous, or perfidious person. " Now, taking into 
consideration that St. Pierre sometimes imag- 
ined persons who were really good, to be de- 
serving of these strong and very contumacious 
epithets, it would have been difficult indeed to 
find a society in which he could have been 
happy. He was therefoere wise in seeking re- 
tiremnent, and indulging in solitude. His mis- 
takes, — for they were mistakes, — arose from a 
too quick perception of evil, united to an ex- 
quisite and diffuse sensibility. When he felt 
wounded by a thorn, he forgot the beauty and 
perfume of the rose to which it belonged, and 
from which perhaps it could not be separated 
And he was exposed (as often happens) to the 
very description of trials that were least in har- 
mony with his defects. Few dispositions could 
have run a career like his, and have remained 
unscathed. But one less tender than his own 
would have been less soured by it. For many 
years, he bore about with him the conscious- 
ness of unacknowledged talent. The world 
cannot be blamed for not appreciating that 
which had never been revealed. But we know 
not what the jostling and elbowing of that 
world, in the meantime, may have been to him 



24 MEMOIR OF 






— how often he may have felt himself unwor- 
thily treated — or how far that treatment may 
have preyed upon and corroded his heart. Who 
shall say that with this consciousness there did 
not mingle a quick and instinctive perception 
of the hidden motives of action, — that he did 
not sometimes detect, where others might have 
been blind, the under-shuffling of the hands, in 
the by-play of the world? 

Through all his writings, and throughout his 
correspondence, there are beautiful proofs of 
the tenderness of his feelings, — the most essen- 
tial quality, perhaps, In any writer. It is at 
least one that if not possessed, can never be 
attained. The familiarity of his imagination 
with natural objects, when he was living far 
removed from them, is remarkable, and often 
affecting. 

"I have arranged, he says to Mr. Henin, 
his friend and patron, "very interesting mate- 
rials, but it is only with the light of Heaven 
over me that I can recover my strength. Ob- 
tain for me a rabbit's hole, in which I may pass 
the summer in the country." And again, 
"With the first violet, I shall come to see you." 
It is soothing to find, in passages like these, 
such pleasing and convincing evidence that 

"Nature never did betray 
The heart that loved her." 



BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 25 

In the noise of a great city, in the midst of 
annoyances of many kinds, these images, 
impressed with quietness and beauty, came 
back to the mind of St. Pierre, to cheer and 
animate him. 

In alluding to his miseries, it is but fair to 
quote a passage from his " Voyage,' ' which 
reveals his fond remembrance of his native 
land. "I should ever prefer my own country 
to every other,' ' he says, "not because it was 
more beautiful, but because I was brought up 
in it. Happy he, who sees again the places 
where all was loved, and all was lovely! — the 
meadows in which he played, and the orchard 
that he robbed!" 

He returned to this country, so fondly loved 
and deeply cherished in absence, to experience 
only trouble and difficulty. Away from it, he 
had yearned to behold it, — to fold it, as it were, 
once more to his bosom. He returned to feel 
as if neglected by it, and all his rapturous emo- 
tions were changed to bitterness and gall. His 
hopes had proved delusions — his expectations, 
mockeries. Oh! who but must look with 
charity and mercy on all discontent and irrita- 
tion consequent on such a depth of disappoint- 
ment: on what must have then appeared to him 
such unmitlgable woe. Under the influence of 



26 MEMOIR OF 

these saddened feelings, his thoughts flew back 
to the island he had left, to place all beauty, 
as well as all happiness there ! 

One great proof that he did beautify the dis- 
tant, may be found in the contrast of some of 
the descriptions in the " Voyage a Tile de 
France," and those in "Paul and Virginia." 
That spot, which, when peopled by the cher- 
ished creatures of his imagination, he described 
as an enchanting and delightful Eden, he had 
previously spoken of as a "rugged country 
covered with rocks," — ■" a land of Cyclops black- 
ened by fire." Truth, probably, lies between 
the two representations; the sadness of exile 
having darkened the one, and the exhubeiance 
of his imagination embellished the other. 

St. Pierre's merit as an author has been too 
long and too universally acknowledged, to make 
it needful that it should be dwelt on here. A 
careful review of the circumstances of his life 
induces the belief, that his writings grew (if it 
may be permitted so to speak) out of his life. 
In the most imaginative passages, to whatever 
height his fancy soared, the starting point seems 
ever from a fact. The past appears to have 
been always spread out before him when he 
wrote, like a beautiful landscape, on which his 
eye rested with complacency, and from which 



BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 27 

his mind transferred and idealized some objects, 
without a servile imitation of any. When at 
Berlin, he had had it in his power to marry 
Virginia Tabenheim ; and in Russia, Mile, de la 
Tour, the niece of General Dubosquet, would 
have accepted his hand. He was too poor to 
marry either. A grateful recollection caused 
him to bestow the names of the two on his most 
beloved creation. Paul was the name of a 
friar, with whom he had associated in his child- 
hood, and whose life he wished to imitate. 
How little had the owners of these names 
anticipated that they were to become the bap- 
tismal appellations of half a generation in 
France, and to be re-echoed through the world 
to the end of time ! 

It was St. Pierre who first discovered the 
poverty of language with regard to picturesque 
descriptions. In his earliest work, the often- 
quoted '- Voyage," he complains that the terms 
for describing nature are not yet invented. 
"Endeavor," he says, "to describe a mountain 
in such a manner that it may be recognized. 
When you have spoken of its base, its sides, its 
summits, you will have said all ! But what 
variety there is to be found in those swelling, 
lengthened, flattened, or cavernous forms! It 
is only by periphrasis that all this can be 



28 MEMOIR OF 

expressed. The same difficulty exists for 
plains and valleys. But if you have a palace to 
describe, there is no longer any difficulty. 
Every molding has its appropriate name. 

It was St. Pierre's glory, in some degree, to 
triumph over this dearth of expression. Few 
authors ever introduced more new terms into 
descriptive writing: yet are his innovations 
ever chastened, and in good taste. His style, 
in its elegant simplicity, is, indeed, perfection. 
It is at once sonorous and sweet, and always 
in harmony with the sentiment he would 
express, or the subject he would discuss. 
Chenier might well arm himself with "Paul 
and Virginia, " and the "Chaumiere Indienne, " 
in opposition to those writers, who, as he said, 
made prose unnatural, by seeking to elevate it 
into verse. 

The "Etudes de la Nature" embraced a 
thousand different subjects, and contained 
some new ideas on all. It is to the honor of 
human nature, that after the uptearing of so 
many sacred opinions, a production like this 
revealing the chain of connection through the 
works of Creation, and the Creator in his 
works, should have been hailed, as it was, with 
enthusiasm. 

His motto, from his favorite poet Virgil, 



BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 29 

" Taught by calamity, I pity the unhappy/' 
won for him, perhaps, many readers. And in 
its touching illusions, the unhappy may have 
found suspension from the realities of life, as 
well as encouragement to support its trials. 
For, throughout, it infuses admiration of the 
arrangements of Providence, and a desire for 
virtue. More than one modern poet may be 
supposed to have drawn a portion of his inspi- 
ration, from the "Etudes." As a work of 
science it contains many errors. These, par- 
ticularly his theory of the tides,* St. Pierre 
maintained to the last, and so eloquently, that 
it was said at the time, to be impossible to unite 
less reason with more logic. 

In "Paul and Virginia," he was supremely 
fortunate in his subject. It was an entirely 
new creation, uninspired by any previous work ; 
but which gave birth to many others, having 
furnished the plot to six theatrical pieces. It 
was a subject to which the author could bring 
all his excellences as a writer and man, while 
his deficiencies and defects were necessarily 
excluded. In no manner could he incorporate 
politics, science, or misapprehension of persons, 
while his sensibility, morals, and wonderful 

*Occasioned, according to St. Pierre, by the melting 
of the ice at the Poles. 



30 MEMOIR OF 

talent for description, were in perfect accord- 
ance with, and ornaments to it. Lemontey and 
Sainte-Beuve both consider success to be insep- 
arable from the happy selection of a story so 
entirely in harmony with the character of the 
author; and that the most successful writers 
might envy him so fortunate a choice. Bona- 
parte was in the habit of saying, whenever he 
saw St. Pierre, "M. Bernardin, when do you 
mean to give us more Pauls and Virginias, and 
Indian Cottages? You ought to give us some 
every six months. ' ' 

The " Indian Cottage, " if not quite equal in 
interest to "Paul and Virginia/ ' is still a 
charming production, and does great honor 
to the genius of its author. It abounds in 
antique and Eastern gems of thought. Strik- 
ing and excellent comparisons are scattered 
through its pages; and it is delightful to 
reflect, that the following beautiful and solemn 
answer of the Paria was, with St. Pierre, the 
result of his own experience: — "Misfortune 
resembles the Black Mountain of Bember, 
situated at the extremity of the burning king- 
dom of Lahore ; while you are climbing it, you 
only see before you barren rocks; but when 
you have reached its summit, you see heaven 



BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 31 

above your head, and at your feet the kingdom 
of Cachemere." 

When this passage was written, the rugged 
and sterile rock had been climbed by its gifted 
author. He had reached the summit, — his 
genius had been rewarded, and he himself 
saw the heaven he wished to point out to others. 

Sarah Jones. 

%* For the facts contained in this brief Memoir, I am 
indeted to St. Pierre's own works, to the "Biographie 
Universelle," to the "Essai sur la Vie et les Ouvrages 
de Bernardin de St. Pierre," by M. Aime Martin, and to 
the very excellent and interesting "Notice Historique 
et Litteraire," of M. Sainte Beuve. 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 



Situate on the eastern side of the mountain 
which rises above Port Louis, in the Mauritius, 
upon a piece of land bearing the marks of 
former cultivation, are seen the ruins of two 
small cottages. These ruins are not far from 
the center of a valley, formed by immense 
rocks, and which opens only towards the 
north. On the left rises the mountain called 
the Height of Discovery, whence the eye 
marks the distant sail when it first touches the 
verge of the horizon, and whence the signal is 
given when a vessel approaches the island. 
At the foot of this mountain stands the town of 
Port Louis. On the right is formed the road 
which stretches from Port Louis to the Shad- 
dock Grove, where the church bearing that 
name lifts its head, surrounded by its avenues 
of bamboo, in the middle of a spacious plain ; 
and the prospect terminates in a forest extend- 
ing to the furthest bounds of the island. The 
front view presents the bay, denominated the 

8 Paul and Virginia 3o 



34 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

Bay of the Tomb; a little on the right is seen 
the Cape of Misfortune ; and beyond rolls the 
expanded ocean, on the surface of which ap- 
pears a few uninhabited islands; and, among 
others, the Point of Endeavor, which resem- 
bles a bastion built upon the flood. 

At the entrance of the valley which presents 
these various objects, the echoes of the moun- 
tain incessantly repeat the hollow murmurs of 
the winds that shake the neighboring forests, 
and the tumultuous dashing of the waves 
which break at a distance upon the cliffs; but 
near the ruined cottages all is calm and still, 
and the only objects which there meet the eye 
are rude steep rocks, that rise like a surround- 
ing rampart. Large clumps of trees grow at 
their base, on their rifted sides, and even on 
their majestic tops, where the clouds seem to 
repose. The showers, which their bold points 
attract, often paint the vivid colors of the rain- 
bow on their green and brown declivities, and 
swell the sources of the little river which flows 
at their feet, called the river of Fan-Palms. 
Within this inclosure reigns the most profound 
silence. The waters, the air, all the elements 
are at peace. Scarcely does the echo repeat 
the whispers of the palm-trees, spreading their 
broad leaves, the long points of which are 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 35 

gently agitated by the winds. A soft light 
illumines the bottom of this deep valley, on 
which the sun shines only at noon. But, even 
at break of day, the rays of light are thrown 
on the surrounding rocks; and their sharp 
peaks, rising above the shadows of the moun- 
tains, appear like tints of gold and purple 
gleaming upon the azure sky. 

To this scene I loved to resort, as I could 
here enjoy at once the richness of an un- 
bounded landscape, and the charm of uninter- 
rupted solitude. One day, when I was seated 
at the foot of the cottages, and contemplating 
their ruins, a man, advanced in years, passed 
near the spot. He was dressed in the ancient 
garb of the island, his feet were bare, and he 
leaned upon a staff of ebony; his hair was 
white, and the expression of his countenance 
was dignified and interesting. I bowed to him 
with respect ; he returned the salutation ; and, 
after looking at me with some earnestness, 
came and placed' himself upon the hillock on 
which I was seated. Encouraged by this 
mark of confidence, I thus addressed him: 
4 'Father, can you tell me to whom those cot- 
tages once belonged?" — "My son," replied the 
old man, "those heaps of rubbish, and that un- 
tilled land, were, twenty years ago, the prop- 



36 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

erty of two families, who then found happi- 
ness in this solitude. Their history is affect- 
ing; but what European, pursuing his way to 
the Indies, will pause one moment to interest 
himself in the fate of a few obscure individu- 
als? What European can picture happiness to 
his imagination amidst poverty and neglect? 
The curiosity of mankind is only attracted by 
the history of the great, and yet from that 
knowledge little use can be derived." — 
"Father," I rejoined, "from your manner and 
your observations, I perceive that you have ac- 
quired much experience of human life. If you 
have leisure, relate to me, I beseech you, the 
history of the ancient inhabitants of this desert ; 
and be assured, that even the men who are 
most perverted by the prejudices of the world, 
find a soothing pleasure in contemplating that 
happiness which belongs to simplicity and 
virtue." The old man, after a short silence, 
during which he leaned his face upon his 
hands, as if he were trying to recall the images 

of the past, thus began his narration : 

Monsieur de la Tour, a young man who was 
a native of Normandy, after having in vain 
solicited a commission in the French army, or 
some support from his own family, at length 
determined to seek his fortune in this island, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 37 

where he arrived in 1726. He brought hither 
a young woman, whom he loved tenderly, and 
by whom he was no less tenderly beloved. She 
belonged to a rich and ancient family of the 
same province : but he had married her secretly 
and without fortune, and in opposition to the 
will of her relations, who refused their consent 
because he was found guilty of being descended 
from parents who had no claims to nobility. 
Monsieur de la Tour, leaving his wife at Port 
Louis, embarked for Madagascar, in order to 
purchase a few slaves, to assist him in forming 
a plantation on this island. He landed at 
Madagascar during that unhealthy season 
which commences about the middle of October; 
and soon after his arrival died of the pestilen- 
tial fever, which prevails in that island six 
months of the year, and which will forever 
baffle the attempts of the European nations to 
form establishments on that fatal soil. His 
effects were seized upon by the rapacity of 
strangers, as commonly happens to persons 
dying in foreign parts ; and his wife, who was 
pregnant, found herself a widow in a country 
where she had neither credit nor acquaintance, 
and no earthly possession, or rather support, 
but one negro woman. Too delicate to solicit 
protection or relief from any one else after the 



38 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

death of him whom alone she loved, misfortune 
armed her with courage, and she resolved to 
cultivate, with her slave, a little spot of 
ground, and procure for herself the means of 
subsistence. 

Desert as was the island, and the ground left 
to the choice of the settler, she avoided those 
spots which were most fertile and most favor- 
able to commerce: seeking some nook of the 
mountain, some secret asylum where she might 
live solitary and unknown, she bent her way 
from the town towards these rocks, where she 
might conceal herself from observation. All 
sensitive and suffering creatures, from a sort 
of common instinct, fly for refuge amidst the 
pains to haunts the most wild and desolate ; as 
if rocks could form a rampart against misfor- 
tune — as if the calm of Nature could hush the 
tumults of the soul. That Providence, which 
lends its support when we ask but the supply 
of our necessary wants, had a blessing in re- 
serve for Madame de la Tour, which neither 
riches nor greatness can purchase: — this bless- 
ing was a friend. 

The spot to which Madame de la Tour had 
fled had already been inhabited for a year by 
a young woman of a lively, good-natured and 
affectionate disposition. Margaret (for that 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 39 

was her name) was born in Brittany, of a fam- 
ily of peasants, by whom she was cherished 
and beloved, and with whom she might have 
passed through life in simple rustic happiness, 
if, misled by the weakness of a tender heart, 
she had not listened to the passion of a gentle- 
man in the neighborhood, who promised her 
marriage. He soon abandoned her, and add- 
ing inhumanity to seduction, refused to insure 
a provision for the child of which she was 
pregnant. Margaret then determined to leave 
forever her native village, and retire, where 
her fault might be concealed, to some colony 
distant from that country where she had lost 
the only portion of a poor peasant girl — her 
reputation. With some borrowed money she 
purchased an old negro slave, with whom she 
cultivated a little corner of this district. 

Madame de la Tour, followed by her negro 
woman, came to this spot, where she found 
Margaret engaged in suckling her child. 
Soothed and charmed by the sight of a person 
in a situation somewhat similar to her own, 
Madame de la Tour related, in a few words, 
her past condition and her present wants. Mar- 
garet was deeply affected by the recital ; and 
more anxious to merit confidence than to create 
esteem, she confessed without disguise, the 



40 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

errors of which she had been guilty. "As for 
me," said she, "I deserve my fate: but you, 
madam — you! at once virtuous and unhappy,'' 
— and, sobbing, she offered Madame de la Tour 
both her hut and her friendship. That lady, 
affected by this tender reception, pressed her 
in her arms, and exclaimed, — "Ah, surely 
Heaven has put an end to my misfortunes, 
since it inspires you, to whom I am a stranger, 
with more goodness towards me than I have 
ever experienced from my own relations!" 

I was acquainted with Margaret: and, al- 
though my habitation is a league and a half 
from hence, in the woods behind that sloping 
mountain, I considered myself as her neighbor. 
In the cities of Europe, a street, even a simple 
wall, frequently prevents members of the same 
family from meeting for years ; but in new col- 
onies we consider those persons as neighbors 
from whom we are divided only by woods and 
mountains; and, above all, at that period, 
when this island had little intercourse with 
the Indies, vicinity alone gave a claim to 
friendship, and hospitality towards strangers 
seemed less a duty than a pleasure. No sooner 
was I informed that Margaret had found a com- 
panion, than I hastened to her, in the hope of 
being useful to my neighbor and her guest. I 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 41 

found Madame de la Tour possessed of all 
those melancholy graces which, by blending 
smypathy with admiration gave to beauty ad- 
ditional power. Her countenance was interest- 
ing, expressive at once of dignity and dejection. 
She appeared to be in the last stage of her 
pregnancy. I told the two friends that for the 
future interest of their children, and to prevent 
the intrusion of any other settler, they had 
better divide between them the property of this 
wild, sequestered valley, which is nearly 
twenty acres in extent. They confided that 
task to me, and I marked out two equal por- 
tions of land. One included the higher part of 
this inclosure, from the cloudy pinnacle of that 
rock, whence springs the river of Fan-Palms, 
to that precipitous cleft which you see on the 
summit of the mountain, and which, from its 
resemblance in form to the battlement of a 
fortress, is called the Embrasure. It is diffi- 
cult to find a path along this wild portion of 
the inclosure, the soil of which is encumbered 
with fragments of rock, or worn into channels 
formed by torrents; yet it produces noble 
trees, and innumerable springs and rivulets. 
The other portion of land comprised the plain 
extending along the banks of the river of Fan- 
Palms, to the opening where we are now 



42 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

seated, whence the river takes its course be- 
tween those two hills, until it falls into the sea. 
You may still trace the vestiges of some mea- 
dow land; and this part of the common is less 
rugged, but not more valuable than the other; 
since in the rainy season it becomes marshy, 
and in dry weather is so hard and unyielding, 
that it will almost resist the stroke of a pickax. 
When I had thus divided the property, I per- 
suaded my neighbors to draw lots for their re- 
spective possessions. The higher portion of 
land, containing the source of the river of 
Fan-Palms, became the property of Madame 
de la Tour; the lower, comprising the plain on 
the banks of the river, was allotted to Marga- 
ret; and each seemed satisfied with her share. 
They entreated me to place their habitations 
together, that they might at all times enjoy 
the soothing intercourse of friendship, and the 
consolation of mutual kind offices. Margaret's 
cottage was situated near the center of the val- 
ley, and just on the boundary of her own plan- 
tation. Close to that spot I built another cot- 
tage for the residence of Madame de la Tour; 
and thus the two friends, while they possessed 
all the advantages of neighborhood, lived on 
their own property. I myself cut palisades 
from the mountain, and brought leaves of fan 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 43 

palms from the sea-shore in order to construct 
those two cottages, of which you can now dis- 
cern neither the entrance nor the roof. Yet, 
alas! there still remain but too many traces for 
my remembrance! Time, which so rapidly 
destroys the proud monuments of empires, 
seems in this desert to spare those of friendship, 
as if to perpetuate my regrets to the last hour 
of my existence. 

As soon as the second cottage was finished, 
Madame de la Tour was delivered of a girl. I 
had been the godfather of Margaret's child, 
who was christened by the name of Paul. 
Madame de la Tour desired me to perform the 
same office for her child also, together with her 
friend, who gave her the name of Virginia. 
"She will be virtuous," cried Margaret, "and 
she will be happy. I have only known misfor- 
tune by wandering from virtue." 

About the time Madame de la Tour recov- 
ered, these two little estates had already begun 
to yield some produce, perhaps in a small de- 
gree owing to the care which I occasionally be- 
stowed on their improvement, but far more to 
the indefatigable labors of the two slaves. 
Margaret's slave, who was called Domingo, 
was still healthy and robust, though advanced 
in years: he possessed some knowledge, and a 



44 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

good natural understanding. He cultivate* 
indiscriminately, on both plantations, the spots 
of ground that seemed most fertile, and sowed 
whatever grain he thought most congenial to 
each particular soil. Where the ground was 
poor, he strewed maize; where it was most 
fruitful, he planted wheat; and rice in such 
spots as were marshy. He threw the seeds of 
gourds and cucumbers at the foot of the rocks, 
which they loved to climb and decorate with 
their luxuriant foliage. In dry spots he culti- 
vated the sweet potato; the cotton-tree flour- 
ished upon the heights, and the sugar-cane 
grew in the clayey soil. He reared some 
plants of coffee on the hills, where the grain, 
although small, is excellent. His plantain- 
trees, which spread their grateful shade on the 
banks of the river, and encircled the cottages, 
yielded fruit throughout the year. And, lastly, 
Domingo, to soothe his cares, cultivated a few 
plants of tobacco. Sometimes he was employed 
in cutting wood for firing from the mountain, 
sometimes in hewing pieces of rock within the 
inclosure, in order to level the paths. The zeal 
which inspired him enabled him to perform all 
these labors with intelligence and activity. 
He was much attached to Margaret, and not 
less to Madame de la Tour, whose negro 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 45 

woman, Mary, he had married on the birth of 
Virginia ; and he was passionately fond of his 
w T ife. Mary was born at Madagascar, and had 
there acquired the knowledge of some useful 
arts. She could weave baskets, and a sort of 
stuff, with long grass that grows in the woods. 
She was active, cleanly, and, above all, faith- 
ful. It was her care to prepare their meals, to 
rear the poultry, and go sometimes to Port 
Louis, to sell the superfluous produce of these 
little plantations, which was not, however, very 
considerable. If you add to the personages 
already mentioned two goats, which were 
brought up with the children, and a great dog, 
which kept watch at night, you will have a 
complete idea of the household, as well as of 
the productions of these two little farms. 
Madame de la Tour and her friend were con- 
stantly employed in spinning cotton for the use 
of their families. Destitute of everything 
which their own industry could not supply, at 
home they went barefooted ; shoes were a con- 
venience reserved for Sunday, on which day, at 
an early hour, they attended mass at the church 
of the Shaddock Grove, which you see yonder. 
That church was more distant from their homes 
than Port Louis; but they seldom visited the 
town, lest they should be treated with con- 



46 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

tempt on account of their dress, which con- 
sisted simply of the coarse blue linen of Ben- 
gal, usually worn by slaves. But is there, in 
that external deference which fortune com- 
mands, a compensation for domestic happi- 
ness? If these interesting women had some- 
thing to suffer from the world, their homes on 
that very account became more dear to them. 
No sooner did Mary and Domingo, from this 
elevated spot, perceive their mistresses on the 
road of the Shaddock Grove, than they flew to 
the foot of the mountain in order to help them 
to ascend. They discerned in the looks of their 
domestics the joy which their return excited. 
They found in their retreat neatness, independ- 
ence, all the blessings which are the recom- 
pense of toil, and they received the zealous 
services which spring from affection. United 
by the tie of similar wants, and the sympathy 
of similar misfortunes, they gave each other the 
tender names of companion, friend, sister. 
They had but one will, one interest, one table. 
All their possessions were in common. And if 
sometimes a passion more ardent than friend- 
ship awakened in their hearts the pang of una- 
vailing anguish, a pure religion, united with 
chaste manners, drew their affections towards 
anothei life : as the trembling flame rises to- 









PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 47 

wards heaven, when it no longer finds any ali- 
ment on earth. 

The duties of maternity became a source of 
additional happiness to these affectionate 
mothers, whose mutual friendship gained new 
strength at the sight of their children, equally 
the offspring of an ill-fated attachment. They 
delighted in washing their infants together in 
the same bath, in putting them to rest in the 
same cradle, and in changing the maternal 
bosom at which they received nourishment. 
44 My friend," cried Madame de la Tour, "we 
shall each of us have two children, and each of 
our children will have two mothers/' As two 
buds which remain on different trees of the 
same kind, after the tempest has broken all 
their branches, produce more delicious fruit, if 
each, separated from the maternal stem, be 
grafted on the neighboring tree, so these two 
infants, deprived of all their other relations, 
when thus exchanged for nourishmnt by those 
who had given them birth, imbibed feelings of 
affection still more tender than those of son 
and daughter, brother and sister. While they 
were yet in their cradles, their mothers talked 
of their marriage. They soothed their own 
cares by looking forward to the future happi- 
ness of their children; but this contemplation 



48 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

often drew forth their tears. The misfortunes 
of one mother had arisen from having neg- 
lected marriage ; those of the other for having 
submitted to its laws. One had suffered by- 
aiming to rise above her condition, the other 
by descending from her rank. But they found 
consolation in reflecting that their more fortu- 
nate children, far from the cruel prejudices of 
Europe, would enjoy at once the pleasures of 
love and the blessings of equality. 

Rarely, indeed, has such an attachment been 
seen as that which the two children already 
testified for each other. If Paul complained of 
anything, his mother pointed to Virginia; at 
her sight he smiled, and was appeased. If any 
accident befell Virginia, the cries of Paul gave 
notice of the disaster ; but the dear little crea- 
ture would suppress her complaints if she foun 
that he was unhappy. When I came hither, ] 
usually found them quite naked, as is the cus 
torn of the country, tottering in their walks, an 
holding each other by the hands and under the 
arms, as we see represented the constellatio 
of the Twins. At night these infants often re 
fused to be separated, and were found lying in 
the same cradle, their cheeks, their bosoms 
pressed close together, their hands thrown 




" Under an umbrella of their own invention." — Page 50. 

Paul and Virginia. 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 49 

round each other's neck, and sleeping, locked 
in one another's arms. 

When they began to speak, the first name 
they learned to give each other were those of 
brother and sister, and childhood knows no 
softer appellation. Their education, by direct- 
ing them ever to consider each other's wants, 
tended greatly to increase their affection. In 
a short time, all the household economy, the 
care of preparing their rural repasts, became 
the task of Virginia, whose labors were always 
crowned with the praises and kisses of her 
brother. As for Paul, always in motion, he 
dug the garden with Domingo, or followed him 
with a little hatchet into the woods; and if in 
his rambles he espied a beautiful flower, any 
delicious fruit, or a nest of birds, even at the 
top of the tree, he would climb up and bring 
the spoil to his sister. When you met one of 
these children, you might be sure the other was 
not far off. 

One day as I was coming down that mount- 
ain, I saw Virginia at the end of the garden 
running towards the house with her petticoat 
thrown over her head, in order to screen her- 
self from a shower of rain. At a distance, I 
thought she was alone; but as I hastened to- 
wards her in order to help her on, I perceived 

4 Paul and Virginia 



50 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

she held Paul by the arm, almost entirely en- 
veloped in the same canopy, and both were 
laughing heartily at their being sheltered to- 
gether under an umbrella of their own inven- 
tion. Those two charming faces in the middle 
of a swelling petticoat, recalled to my mind 
the children of Leda, inclosed in the same 
shell. Their sole study was how they could 
please and assist one another; for of all other 
things they were ignorant, and, indeed, could 
neither read nor write. They were never dis- 
turbed by inquiries about past times, nor did 
their curiosity extend beyond the bounds of 
their mountain. They believed the world 
ended at the shores of their own island, and all 
their ideas and all their affections were confined 
within its limits. Their mutual tenderness, 
and that of their mothers, employed all the 
energies of their minds. Their tears had never 
been called forth by tedious application to use- 
less sciences. Their minds had never been 
wearied by lessons of morality, superfluous to 
bosoms unconscious of ill. They had never 
been taught not to steal, because everything 
with them was in common ; or not to be intem- 
perate, because their simple food was left to 
their own discretion; or not to lie, because 
they had nothing to conceal. Their young 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 51 

imaginations had never been terrified by the 
idea that God has punishment in store for un- 
grateful children, since with them, filial affec- 
tion arose naturally from maternal tenderness. 
All they had been taught of religion was to 
love it, and if they did not offer up long prayers 
in the church, wherever they were, in the 
house, in the fields, in the woods, they raised 
towards heaven their innocent hands, and 
hearts purified by virtuous affections. 

All their early childhood passed thus, like a 
beautiful dawn, the prelude of a bright day. 
Already they assisted their mothers in the 
duties of the household. As soon as the crow- 
ing of the wakeful cock announced the first 
beam of the morning, Virginia arose, and has- 
tened to draw water from a neighboring spring : 
then returning to the house, she prepared the 
breakfast. When the rising sun gilded the 
points of the rocks which overhang the inclos- 
ure in which they lived, Margaret and her child 
repaired to the dwelling of Madame de la Tour, 
where they offered up their morning prayer 
together. This sacrifice of thanksgiving 
always preceded their first repast, which they 
often took before the door of the cottage, 
seated upon the grass, under a canopy of plan- 
tain : and while the branches of that delicious 



52 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

tree afforded a grateful shade, its fruit fur- 
nished a substantial food ready prepared for 
them by nature, and its long glossy leaves, 
spread upon the table, supplied the place of 
linen. Plentiful and wholesome nourishment 
gave early growth and vigor to the persons of 
these children, and their countenances ex- 
pressed the purity and peace of their souls. At 
twelve years of age the figure of Virginia was 
in some degree formed ; a profusion of light 
hair shaded her face, to which her blue eyes 
and coral lips gave the most charming brilli- 
ancy. Her eyes sparkled with vivacity when 
she spoke ; but when she was silent they were 
habitually turned upwards with an expression 
of extreme sensibility, or rather of tender mel- 
ancholy. The figure of Paul began already to 
display the graces of youthful beauty. He was 
taller than Virginia ; his skin was a darker tint ; 
his nose more aquiline, and his black eyes 
would have been too piercing, if the long eye- 
lashes by which they were shaded had not im- 
parted to them an expression of softness. 
He was constantly in motion, except when his 
sister appeared, and then, seated by her side, 
he became still. Their meals often passed with- 
out a word being spoken, and from their 
silence, the simple elegance of their attitudes 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 53 

and the beauty of their naked feet, you might 
have fancied you beheld an antique group of 
white marble, representing some of the chil- 
dren of Niobe, but for the glances of their eyes, 
which were constantly seeking to meet, and 
their mutual soft and tender smiles, which sug- 
gested rather the idea of happy celestial spirits, 
whose nature is love, and who are not obliged 
to have recourse to w T ords for the expression of 
their feelings. 

In the meantime, Madame de la Tour, per- 
ceiving every day some unfolding grace, some 
new beauty, in her daughter, felt her maternal 
anxiety increase with her tenderness. She 
often said to me, 4 If I were to die, what will 
become of Virginia without fortune? 

Madame de la Tour had an aunt in France, 
who was a woman of quality, rich, old, and a 
complete devotee. She had behaved with so 
much cruelty towards her niece upon her mar- 
riage, that Madame de la Tour had determined 
.no extremity of distress should ever compel 
her to have recourse to her hard-hearted rela- 
tion. But when she became a mother, the 
pride of resentment was overcome by the 
stronger feelings of maternal tenderness. She 
wrote to her aunt, informing her of the sudden 
death of her husband, and the birth of her 



54 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

daughter, and the difficulties in which she was 
involved, burdened as she was with an infant, 
and without means of support. She received 
no answer; but notwithstanding the high spirit 
natural to her character, she no longer feared 
exposing herself to mortification ; and, although 
she knew her aunt would never pardon her for 
having married a man who was not of noble 
birth, however estimable, she continued to 
write to her, with the hope of awakening her 
compassion for Virginia. Many years, how- 
ever, passed without receiving any token of her 
remembrance. 

At length, in 1738, three years after the ar- 
rival of Monsieur de la Bourdonnais in this 
island, Madame de la Tour was informed that 
the Governor had a letter to give her from her 
aunt. She flew to Port Louis, maternal joy 
raised her mind above all trifling considera- 
tions, and she was careless on this occasion of 
appearing in her homely attire. Monsieur de 
la Bourdonnais gave her a letter from her aunt, 
In which she informed her, that she deserved 
her fate for marrying an adventurer and a lib- 
ertine; that the passions brought with them 
their own punishment; that the premature 
death of her husband was a just visitation from - 
Heaven, that she had done well in going to a 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 55 

distant island, rather than dishonor her family 
by remaining in France ; and that, after all, in 
the colony where she had taken refuge, none 
but the idle failed to grow rich. Having thus 
censured her niece, she concluded by eulogiz- 
ing herself. To avoid, she said, the almost 
inevitable evils of marriage, she had deter- 
mined to remain single. In fact, as she was 
of a very ambitious disposition, she had re- 
solved to marry none but a man of high rank, 
but although she was very rich, her fortune 
was not found a sufficient bribe, even at court, 
to counterbalance the malignant dispositions of 
her mind, and the disagreeable qualities of her 
nature. 

After mature deliberations, she added, in a 
postscript, that she had strongly iecommended 
her niece to Monsieur de la Bourdonnais. This 
she had, indeed, done, but in a manner of late 
too common, which renders a patron perhaps 
even more to be feared than a declared enemy, 
for, in order to justify herself for her harsh- 
ness, she had cruelly slandered her niece, 
while she affected to pity her misfortunes. 

Madame de la Tour, whom no unprejudiced 
person could have seen without feelings of 
sympathy and respect, was received with the 
utmost coolness by Monsieur de la Bourdon- 



56 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

nais, biased as he was against her. When she 
painted to him her own situation and that of her 
child, he replied in abrupt sentences, — kt We 
will see what can be done — there are so many 
to relieve — all in good time — why did you dis- 
please your aunt? — you have been much to 
blame." 

Madame de la Tour returned to her cottage, 
her heart torn with grief, and filled with all 
the bitterness of disappointment. When she 
arrived she threw her aunt's letter on the 
table, and exclaimed to her friend, M There is 
the fruit of eleven years of patient expecta- 
tion!" Madame de la Tour being the only per- 
son in the little circle who could read, she again 
took up the letter, and read it aloud. Scarcely 
had she finished, when Margaret exclaimed, 
"What have we to do with your relations? Has 
God then forsaken us? He only is our Father 1 
Have we not hitherto been happy? Why then 
this regret? You have no courage." Seeing 
Madame de la Tour in tears, she threw herself 
upon her neck, and pressing her in her arms, 
— "My dear friend?" cried she, 4< my dear 
friend!" — but her emotion choked her utter- 
ance. At this sight Virginia burst into tears, 
and pressed her mother's and Margaret's hand 
alternately to her lips and heart; while Paul, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 57 

his eyes inflamed with anger, cried, clasping 
his hands together, and stamping with his foot t 
not knowing whom to blame for this scene of 
misery. The noise soon brought Domingo and 
Mary to the spot, and the little habitation re- 
sounded with cries cf distress, — "Ah, madam! 
— My good mistress! — My dear mother! — Do 
not weep!" These tender proofs of affection 
at length dispelled the grief of Madame de la 
Tour. She took Paul and Virginia in her arms* 
and, embracing them, said, "You are the cause 
of my affliction, my children, but you are also 
my only source of delight! Yes, my dear chil- 
dren, misfortune has reached me, but only 
from a distance; here I am surrounded with 
happiness. " Paul and Virginia did not under- 
stand this reflection ; but when they saw that 
she was calm, they smiled, and continued to 
caress her. Tranquillity was thus restored in 
this happy famliy, and all that had passed was 
but as a storm in the midst of fine weather, 
which disturbs the serenity of the atmosphere 
but for a short time, and then passes away. 

The amiable disposition of these children 
unfolded itself daily. One Sunday, at day- 
break, their mothers having gone to mass at 
the church of the Shaddock Grove, the children 
perceived a negro woman beneath the plan- 



58 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 

tains which surrounded their habitation, She 
appeared almost wasted to a skeleton, and had 
no other garment than a piece of coarse cloth 
thrown around her. She threw herself at the 
feet of Virginia, who was preparing the family 
breakfast, and said, "My good young lady, 
have pity on a poor runaway slave. For a 
whole month I have wandered among these 
mountains, half-dead with hunger, and often 
pursued by the hunters and their dogs. I fled 
from my master, a rich planter of the Black 
River, who has used me as you see;" and she 
showed her body marked with scars from the 
lashes she had received. She added, "I was 
going to drown myself, but hearing you lived 
here, I said to myself, Since there are still 
some good white people in this country, I need 
not die yet." Virginia answered with emo- 
tion, — "Take courage, unfortunate creature! 
here is something to eat;" and she gave her 
the breakfast she had been preparing, which 
the slave in few minutes devoured. When her 
hunger was appeased, Virginia said to her, — 
"Poor woman! I should like to go and ask for- 
giveness for you of your master. Surely, the 
sight of you will touch him with pity, Will 
you show me the way?" — "Angel of heaven!" 
answered the poor negro woman, "I will follow 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 59 

you where you please ! M Virginia called her 
brother and begged him to accompany her. 
The slave led the way, by winding and difficult 
paths, through the woods, over mountains, 
which they climbed with difficulty, and across 
rivers, through which they were obliged to 
wade. At length, about the middle of the day, 
they reached the foot of a steep descent upon 
the borders of the Black River. There they 
perceived a well-built house, surrounded by 
extensive plantations, and a number of slaves 
employed in their various labors. Their mas- 
ter was walking among them with a pipe in his 
mouth, and a switch in his hand. He was a 
tall, thin man, of a brown complexion; his 
eyes were sunk in his head, and his dark eye- 
brows were joined in one. Virginia, holding 
Paul by the hand, drew near, and with much 
emotion begged him, for the love of God, to 
pardon his poor slave, who stood trembling a 
few paces behind. The planter at first paid 
little attention to the children, who he saw, 
were meanly dressed. But when he observed 
the elegance of Virginia's form, and the pro- 
fusion of her beautiful light tresses which had 
escaped from beneath her blue cap ; when he 
heard the soft tone of her voice, which trem- 
bled, as well as her whole frame, while she im- 



60 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

plored his compassion; he took his pipe from 
his mouth, and lifting up his stick, swore with 
a terrible oath, that he pardoned his slave, not 
for the love of Heaven, but of her who asked 
her forgiveness. Virginia made a sign to the 
slave to approach her master ; and instantly 
sprang away followed by Paul. 

They climbed up the steep they had des- 
cended; and having gained the summit, seated 
themselves at the foot of a tree, overcome with 
fatigue, hunger and thirst. They had left 
their home fasting, and walked five leagues 
since sunrise. Paul said to Virginia, — "My 
dear sister, it is past noon, and I am sure you 
are thirsty and hungry ; we shall find no dinner 
here; let us go down the mountain again, and 
ask the master of the poor slave for some 
food."*— "Oh, no," answered Virginia, "he 
frightens me too much. Remember what 
mamma sometimes says, 'The bread of the 
wicked is like stones in the mouth. ' " — "What 
shall we do then?" said Paul; "these trees pro- 
duce no fruit fit to eat ; and I shall not be able 
to find even a tamarind or a lemon to refresh 
you," — "God will take care of us," replied 
Virginia; "he listens to the cry even of the 
little birds when they ask him for food." 
Scarcely had she pronounced these words when 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 61 

they heard the noise of water falling from a 
neighboring rock. They ran thither, and hav- 
ing quenched their thirst at this crystal spring, 
they gathered and ate a few cresses which grew 
on the border of the stream. Soon afterward, 
while they were wandering backwards and for- 
wards, in search of more solid nourishment, 
Virginia perceived in the thickest part of the 
forest, a young palm-tree. The kind of cab- 
bage which is found at the top of the palm, 
enfolded within its leaves, is well adapted for 
food ; but, although the stock of the tree is not 
thicker than a man's leg, it grows to above 
sixty feet in height. The wood of the tree, 
indeed, is composed only of very fine filaments; 
but the bark is so hard that it turns the edge 
of the hatchet, and Paul was not furnished 
even with a knife. At length he thought of 
setting fire to the palm-tree ; but a new diffi- 
culty occurred: he had no steel with which to 
strike fire; and although the whole island is 
covered with rocks, I do not believe it is pos- 
sible to find a single flint. Necessity, how- 
ever, is fertile in expedients, and the most 
useful inventions have arisen from men placed 
in the most destitute situations. Paul deter- 
mined to kindle a fire after the manner of the 
negroes. With the sharp end of a stone he 



62 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

made a small hole in the branch of a tree that 
was quite dry, and which he held between his 
feet: he then, with the edge of the same stone, 
brought to a point another dry branch of a 
different sort of wood, and, afterwards, placing 
the piece of pointed wood in the small hole of 
the branch which he held with his feet and 
turning it rapidly between his hands, in a few 
minutes smoke and sparks of fire issued from 
the point of contact. Paul then heaped 
together dried gress and branches, and set fire 
to the foot of the palm-tree, which soon fell to 
the ground with a tremendous crash. The fire 
was further useful to him in stripping off the 
long, thick, and pointed leaves, within which 
the cabbage was inclosed. Having thus suc- 
ceeded in obtaining this fruit, they ate part of 
it raw, and part dressed upon the ashes, which 
they found equally palatable. They made this 
frugal repast with delight, from the remem- 
brance of the benevolent action they had per- 
formed in the morning: yet their joy was 
embittered by the thoughts of the uneasiness 
which their long absence from home would 
occasion their mothers. Virginia often 
recurred to this subject; but Paul, who felt 
his strength renewed by their meal, assured 
her that it would not be long before they 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 63 

reached home, and, by the assurance of their 
safety, tranquilized the minds of their parents. 
After dinner they were much embarrassed 
by the recollection that they had now no guide, 
and that they were ignorant of the way. Paul, 
whose spirit was not subdued by difficulties, 
said to Virginia, — "The sun shines full upon 
our huts at noon : we must pass, as we did this 
morning, over that mountain with its three 
points, which you see yonder. Come, let us be 
moving. " This mountain was that of the 
Three Breasts, so called from the form of its 
three peaks. They then descended the steep 
bank of the Black River, on the northern side; 
and arrived, after an hour's walk, on the banks 
of a large river, which stopped their further pro- 
gress. This large portion of the island, covered 
as it is with forests, is even now so little known 
that many of its rivers and mountains have not 
yet received a name. The stream, on the 
banks of which Paul and Virginia were now 
standing, rolls foaming over a bed of rocks. 
The noise of the water frightened Virginia, 
and she was afraid to wade through the cur- 
rent : Paul therefore took her up in his arms, 
and went thus loaded over the slippery rocks, 
which formed the bed of the river, careless of 
the tumultuous noise of its waters. "Do not 



64 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

be afraid," cried he to Virginia; "I feel very- 
strong with yon. If that planter at the Black 
River had refused you the pardon of his slave, 
I would have fought with him."— " What?" 
answered Virginia, "with that great wicked 
man? To what have I exposed you ! Gracious 
heaven! how difficult it is to do good! and yet 
it is so easy to do wrong. " 

When Paul had crossed the river, he wished 
to continue the journey carrying his sister: 
and he flattered himself that he could ascend 
in that way the mountain of the Three Breasts, 
which was still at the distance of half a league ; 
but his strength soon failed, and he was obliged 
to set down his burden, and to rest himself by 
her side. Virginia then said to him, "My dear 
brother, the sun is going down; you have still 
some strength left, but mine has quite failed: 
do leave me here, and return home alone to 
ease the fears of our mothers. ' ' — 4 1 Oh no, ' ' said 
Paul, "I will not leave you; if night overtakes 
us in this wood I will light a fire, and bring 
down another palm-tree; you shall eat the 
cabbage, and I will form a covering of the 
leaves to shelter you. " In the meantime, Vir- 
ginia being a little rested, she gathered from 
the trunk of an old tree, which overhung the 
bank of the river, some long leaves of the 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 65 

plant called hart's tongue, which grew near its 
root. Of these leaves she made a sort of 
buskin, with which she covered her feet, that 
were bleeding from the sharpness of the stony- 
paths; for in her eager desire to do good, she 
had forgotten to put on her shoes. Feeling 
her feet cooled by the freshness of the leaves, 
she broke off a branch of bamboo, and contin- 
ued her walk, leaning with one hand on the 
staff, and with the other on Paul. 

They walked on in this manner slowly 
through the woods; but from the height of the 
trees, and the thickness of their foliage, they 
soon lost sight of the mountain of the Three 
Breasts, by which they had hitherto directed 
their course, and also of the sun, which was now 
setting. At length they wandered, without 
perceiving it, from the beaten path in which 
they had hitherto walked, and found themselves 
in a labyrinth of trees, underwood, and rocks, 
whence there appeared to be no outlet, Paul 
made Virginia sit down, while he ran back- 
wards and forwards, half frantic, in search of 
a path which might lead them out of this thick 
wood; but he fatigued himself to no purpose. 
He then climbed to the top of a lofty tree, 
whence he hoped at least to perceive the 
mountain of the Three Breasts: but he could 

5 Paul and Virginia 



66 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

discern nothing around him but the tops of 
trees, some of which were gilded with the 
last beams of the setting sun. Already the 
shadows of the mountains were spreading over 
the forests in the valleys. The wind lulled, 
as is usually the case at sunset. The most 
profound silence reigned in those awful soli- 
tudes, which was only interrupted by the cry 
of the deer, who came to their lairs in that 
unfrequented spot. Paul, in the hope that 
some hunter would hear his voice, called out 
as loud as he was able, — "Come, come, to the 
help of Virginia." But the echoes of the 
forest alone answered his call, and repeated 
again and again, "Virginia — Virginia." 

Paul at length descended from the tree, over- 
come with fatigue and vexation. He looked 
around in order to make some arrangement for 
passing the night in that desert ; but he could 
find neither fountain, nor palm-tree, nor even 
a branch of dry wood fit for kindling a fire. 
He was then impressed, by experience, with 
the sense of his own weakness, and began to 
weep. Virginia said to him, — "Do not weep, 
my dear brother, or I shall be overwhelmed 
with grief. I am the cause of all your sorrow, 
and of all that our mothers are suffering at this 
moment. I find we ought to do nothing, not 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 67 

even good, without consulting our parents. 
Oh, I have been very imprudent!" — and she 
began to shed tears. "Let us pray to God, 
my dear brother," she again said, "and he will 
hear us. " They had scarcely finished their 
prayer, when they heard the barking of a dog. 
"It must be the dog of some hunter," said 
Paul, who ' 'comes here at night, to lie in wait 
for the deer. " Soon after, the dog began bark- 
ing again with increased violence. "Surely," 
said Virginia, "it is Fidele, our own dog: yes, 
— now I know his bark. Are we then so near 
home? — at the foot of our own mountain?" A 
moment after Fidele was at their feet, barking, 
howling, moaning, and devouring them with 
caresses. Before they could recover from their 
surprise, they saw Domingo running towards 
them. At the sight of the good old negro, 
who wept for joy, they began to weep too, but 
had not the power to utter a syllable. When 
Domingo had recovered himself a little, "Oh, 
my dear children," said he, "how miserable 
have you made your mothers ! How astonished 
they were when they returned with me from 
mass, on not finding you at home. Mary, who 
was at work at a little distance, could not tell us 
where you were gone. I ran backwards and 
forwards in the plantation, not knowing where 



68 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

to look for you. At last I took some of your 
old clothes, and showing them to Fidele, the 
poor animal, as if he understood me, immedi- 
ately began to scent your path ; and conducted 
me, wagging his tail all the while, to the Black 
River. I there saw a planter, who told me 
you had brought back a Maroon negro woman, 
his slave, and that he had pardoned her at your 
request. But what a pardon ! he showed her 
to me with her feet chained to a block of wood, 
and an iron collar with three hooks fastened 
round her neck ! After that, Fidele, still on 
the scent, led me up the steep bank of the 
Black River, where he again stopped, and 
barked with all his might. This was on the 
brink of a spring, near which was a fallen 
palm-tree, and a fire, still smoking. At last 
he led me to this very spot. We are now at 
the foot of the mountain of the Three Breasts, 
and still four good leagues from home. Come 
eat, and recover your strength." Domingo 
then presented them with a cake, some fruit, 
and a large gourd full of beverage composed of 
wine, water, lemon-juice, sugar, and nutmeg, 
which their mothers had prepared to invigorate 
and refresh them. Virginia sighed at the 
recollection of the poor slave, and at the 
uneasiness they had given their mothers. She 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 69 

repeated several times. "Oh, how difficult it 
is to do good!" While she and Paul were tak- 
ing refreshment, it being already night, Do- 
mingo kindled a fire: and having found among 
the rocks a particular kind of twisted wood, 
called bois de ronde, which burns when quite 
green, and throws out a great blaze, he made 
a torch of it, which he lighted. But when 
they prepared to continue their journey, a new 
difficulty occurred ; Paul and Virginia could no 
longer walk, their feet being violently swollen 
and inflamed. Domingo knew not what to do ; 
whether to leave them and go in search of help, 
or remain and pass the night with them on that 
spot. "There was a time," said he, "when I 
could carry you both together in my arms! 
But now you are grown big, and I am grown 
old. " While he was in this perplexity, a troop 
of Maroon negroes appeared at a short distance 
from them. The chief of the band, approach- 
ing Paul and Virginia, said to them, — "Good 
little white people, do not be afraid. We saw 
you pass this morning, with a negro woman of 
the Black River. You went to ask pardon for 
her of her wicked master; and we, in return 
for this, will carry you home upon our shoul- 
ders. " He then made a sign, and four of the 
strongest negroes immediately formed a sort of 



70 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

litter with the branches of trees and lianas, 
and having seated Paul and Virginia on it, 
carried them upon their shoulders. Domingo 
marched in front with his lighted torch, and 
they proceeded amidst the rejoicings of the 
whole troop, who overwhelmed them with their 
benedictions. Virginia, affected by this scene, 
said to Paul, with emotion, — "Oh, my dear 
brother ! God never leaves a good action unre- 
warded. ' ' 

It was midnight when they arrived at the foot 
of their mountain, on the ridges of which sev- 
eral fires were lighted. As soon as they began 
to ascend, they heard voices exclaiming — "Is it 
you, my children?" They answered immedi- 
ately, and the negroes also, — "Yes, yes, it is/' 
A moment after they could distinguish their 
mothers and Mary coming towards them with 
lighted sticks in their hands. "Unhappy chil- 
dren/' cried Madame de la Tour, "where have 
you been? what agonies you have made us 
suffer!" — "We have been, " said Virginia, "to 
the Black River, where we went to ask pardon 
for a poor Maroon slave, to whom I gave our 
breakfast this morning, because she seemed 
dying of hunger; and these Maroon negroes 
have brought us home." Madame de la Tour 
embraced her daughter, without being able to 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 71 

speak; and Virginia, who felt her face wet 
with her mother's tears, exclaimed, "Now I 
am repaid for all the hardships I have suffered. ' ' 
Margaret, in a transport of delight, pressed 
Paul in her arms, exclaiming, "And you also, 
my dear child, you have done a good action. ' ' 
When they reached the cottages with their 
children they entertained all the negroes with 
a plentiful repast, after which the latter re- 
turned to the woods praying Heaven to shower 
down every description of blessing on those 
good white people. 

Every day was to these families a day of hap- 
piness and tranquillity. Neither ambition nor 
envy disturbed their repose. They did not 
seek to obtain a useless reputation out of doors, 
which may be procured by artifice and lost by 
calumny; but were contented to be the sole 
witnesses and judges of their own actions. In 
this island, where, as is the case in most colo- 
nies, scandal forms the principal topic of con- 
versation, their virtues, and even their names, 
were unknown. The passer-by on the road to 
the Shaddock Grove, indeed, would sometimes 
ask the inhabitants of the plain, who lived in 
the cottages up there? and was always told, 
even by those who did not know them, "They 
are good people." The modest violet thus, 



72 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

concealed in thorny places, sheds all unseen its 
delightful fragrance around. 

Slander, which, under an appearance of jus- 
tice, naturally inclines the heart to falsehood 
or to hatred, was entirely banished from their 
conversation ; for it is impossible not to hate 
men if we believe them to be wicked, or to live 
with the wicked without concealing that hatred 
under a false pretence of good feeling. Slander 
thus puts us all ill at ease with others and with 
ourselves. In this little circle, therefore, the 
conduct of individuals was not discussed, but 
the best manner of doing good to all; and 
although they had but little in their power, 
their unceasing good- will and kindness of heart 
made them constantly ready to do what they 
could for others. Solitude, far from having 
blunted these benevolent feelings, had ren- 
dered their dispositions even more kindly. 
Although the petty scandals of the day fur- 
nished no subject of conversation to them, 
yet their contemplation of nature filled their 
minds with enthusiastic delight. They adored 
the bounty of that Providence, which, by their 
instrumentality, had spread abundance and 
beauty about these barren rocks, and had en- 
abled them to enjoy those pure and simple 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 73 

pleasures, which are ever grateful and ever 
new. 

Paul, at twelve years of age, was stronger 
and more intelligent than most European 
youths are at fifteen; and the plantations, 
which Domingo merely cultivated, were embell- 
ished by him. Ke would go with the old negro 
into the neighboring woods, where he would 
root up the young plants of lemon, orange, and 
tamarind trees, the round heads of which are 
so fresh and green, together with date-palm 
trees, which produce fruit filled with a sweet 
cream, possessing the fine perfume of the 
orange flower. These trees, which had already 
attained to a considerable size, he planted 
round their little enclosure. He had also sown 
the seed of many trees which the second year 
bear flowers or fruit; such as the agathis, en- 
circled with long clusters of white flowers 
which hang from it like the crystal pendants 
of a chandelier; the Persian lilac, which lifts 
high in air its gray flax-colored branches ; the 
pawpaw tree, the branchless trunk of which 
forms a column studded with green melons, 
surmounted by a capital of broad leaves similar 
to those of the fig-tree. 

The seeds and kernels of the gum tree, ter- 
minalia, mango, alligator pear, the guava, the 



74 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

bread-fruit tree, and the 'narrow-leaved rose- 
apple, were also planted by him with profu- 
sion ; and the greater number of these trees 
already afforded the young cultivator both 
shade and fruit. His industrious hands diffused 
the riches of nature over even the most barren 
parts of the plantation. Several species of 
aloes, the Indian fig, adorned with yellow flow- 
ers spotted with red, and the thorny torch 
thistle, grew upon the dark summits of the 
rocks, and seemed to aim at reaching the long 
lianas, which, laden with blue or scarlet flow- 
ers, hung scattered over the steepest parts of 
the mountain. 

I loved to trace the ingenuity he had exer- 
cised in the arrangement of these trees. He 
had so disposed them that the whole could be 
seen at a single glance. In the middle of the 
hollow he had planted shrubs of the lowest 
growth ; behind grew the more lofty sorts ; 
then trees of the ordinary height ; and beyond 
and above all, the venerable and lofty groves 
which bordered the circumference. Thus this 
extensive inclosure appeared, from its cen- 
ter, like a verdant amphitheater, decorated 
with fruits and flowers, containing a variety of 
vegetables, some strips of meadow land, and 
fields of rice and corn. But, in arranging 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 75 

these vegetable productions to his own taste, 
he wandered not too far from the designs of 
Nature. Guided by her suggestions, he had 
thrown upon the elevated spots such seeds as 
the winds would scatter about, and near the 
borders of the springs those which float upon 
the water. Every plant thus grew in its proper 
soil, and every spot seemed decorated by 
Nature's own hand. The streams which fell 
from the summits of the rocks formed in some 
parts of the valley sparkling cascades, and in 
others were spread into broad mirrors, in 
which were reflected, set in verdure, the flower- 
ing trees, the overhanging rocks, and the azure 
heavens. 

Notwithstanding the great irregularity of the 
ground, these plantations were, for the most 
part, easy of access. We had, indeed, all given 
him our advice and assistance, in order to ac- 
complish this end. He had conducted one 
path entirely round the valley and various 
branches from it led from the circumference 
to the center. He had drawn some advantage 
from the most rugged spots, and had blended, 
in harmonious union, level walks with the in- 
equalities of the soil, and trees which grow 
wild with the cultivated varieties. With that 
immense quantity of large pebbles which now 



76 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

block up these paths, and which are scattered 
over most of the ground of this island, he 
formed pyramidal heaps here and there, at the 
base of which he laid mold, and planted rose- 
bushes, the Barbadoes flower-fence, and other 
shrubs which love to climb the rocks. In a 
short time the dark and shapeless heaps of 
stones he had constructed were covered with 
verdure, or with the glowing tints of the most 
beautiful flowers. Hollow recesses on the bor- 
ders of the streams shaded by the overhanging 
boughs of aged trees, formed rural grottoes, 
impervious to the rays of the sun, in which 
you might enjoy a refreshing coolness during 
the mid-day heats. One path led to a clump 
of forest trees, in the center of which, sheltered 
from the wind, you found a fruit-tree, laden 
with produce. Here was a corn-field ; there, 
an orchard ; from one avenue you had a view 
of the cottages ; from another, of the inaccess- 
ible summit of the mountain. Beneath one 
tufted bower of gum-trees, interwoven with 
lianas, no object whatever could be perceived: 
while the point of the adjoining rock, jutting 
out from the mountain, commanded a view of 
the whole inclosure, and of the distant ocean, 
where, occasionally, we could discern the dis- 
tant sail, arriving from Europe, or bound 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 77 

thither. On this rock the two families fre- 
quently met in the evening, and enjoyed in 
silence the freshness of the flowers, the gentle 
murmurs of the fountain, and the last blended 
harmonies of light and shade. 

Nothing could be more charming than the 
names which were bestowed upon some of the 
delightful retreats of the labyrinth. The rock 
of which I have been speaking, whence they 
could discern my approach at a considerable 
distance, was called the Discovery of Friend- 
ship. Paul and Virginia had amused them- 
selves by planting a bamboo on that spot ; and 
whenever they saw me coming, they hoisted a 
little white handkerchief, by way of signal at 
my approach, as they had seen a flag hoisted 
on the neighboring mountain on the sight of a 
vessel at sea. The idea struck me of engrav- 
ing an inscription on the stalk of this reed ; for 
I never, in the course of my travels, experi- 
enced anything like the pleasure in seeing a 
statue or other monument of ancient art, as in 
reading a well-written inscription. It seems 
to me as if a human voice issued from the 
stone, and, making itself heard after the lapse 
of ages, addressed man in the midst of a desert, 
to tell him that he is not alone, and that other 
men, on that very spot, had felt, and thought, 



78 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 



and suffered like himself. If the inscription 
belongs to an ancient nation, which no longer 
exists, it leads the soul through infinite space, 
and strengthens the consciousness of its immor- 
tality, by demonstrating that a thought has 
survived the ruins of an empire. 

I inscribed then, on the little staff of Paul 
and Virginia's flag the following lines of 

Horace : — 

Fratres Helense, lucida sidera, 
Ventorumque re gat pater, 
Obstrictis, aliis, praeter Iapaiga. 

"May the brothers of Helen, bright stars like you, 
and the Father of the winds, guide you; and may you 
feel only the breath of the zephyr." 

There was a gum-tree, under the shadow of 
which Paul was accustomed to sit, to contem- 
plate the sea when agitated by storms. On 
the bark of this tree, I engraved the following 
lines from Virgil : — 

Fortunatus et ille deos qui novit agrestes ! 

"Happy art thou, my son, in knowing only the pas- 
toral divinities." 

And over the door of Madame de la Tour's cot- 
tage, where the families so frequently met, I 
placed this line :— 

At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita. 
" Here dwells a calm conscience, and a life that knows 
not deceit." 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 79 

But Virginia did not approve of my Latin ; 
she said, that what I had placed at the foot of 
her flag-staff was too long and too learned. 
"I should have liked better," added she, "to 
have seen inscribed, Ever agitated, yet con- 
stant. " "Such a motto," I answered, "would 
have been still more applicable to virtue." 
My reflection made her blush. 

The delicacy of sentiment of these happy 
families was manifested in everything around 
them. They gave the tenderest names to ob- 
jects in appearance the most indifferent. A 
border of orange, plantain, and rose-apple 
trees, planted round a green sward where Vir- 
ginia and Paul sometimes danced, received the 
name of Concord. An old tree, beneath the 
shade of which Madame de la Tour and Mar- 
garet used to recount their misfortunes, was 
called the Burial-place of Tears. They be- 
stowed the names of Brittany and Normandy 
on two little plots of ground, where they had 
sown corn, strawberries, and peas. Domingo 
and Mary, wishing, in imitation of their mis- 
tresses, to recall to mind Angola and Foulle- 
pointe, the places of their birth in Africa, gave 
those names to the little fields where the grass 
was sown with which they wove their baskets, 
and where they had planted a calabash -tree. 



80 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

Thus by cultivating the productions of their 
respective climates, these exiled families cher- 
ished the dear illusions which bind us to our 
native country, and softened their regrets in a 
foreign land. Alas! I have seen these trees, 
these fountains, these heaps of stones, which 
are now so completely overthrown, — which 
now, like the desolated plains of Greece, pre- 
sent nothing but masses of ruin and affecting 
remembrances, all but called into life by the 
many charming appellations thus bestowed 
upon them ! 

But perhaps the most delightful spot of this 
in closure was that called Virginia's resting- 
place. At the foot of the rock which bore the 
name of the Discovery of Friendship, is a small 
crevice, whence issues a fountain, forming, 
near its source, a little spot of marshy soil in 
the middle of a field of rich grass. At the time 
of Paul's birth I had made Margaret a present 
of an Indian cocoa which had been given 
me, and which she planted on the border of 
this fenny ground, in order that the tree might 
one day serve to mark the epoch of her son's 
birth. Madame de la Tour planted another 
cocoa with the same view, at the birth of Vir- 
ginia. These nuts produced two cocoa-trees, 
which formed the only records of the two fam- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 81 

ilies; one was called Paul's tree, the other, 
Virginia's. Their growth was in the same 
proportion as that of the two young persons, 
not exactly equal but they rose, at the end of 
twelve years, above the roofs of the cottages. 
Already their tender stalks were interwoven, 
and clusters of young cocoas hung from them 
over the basin of the fountain. With the 
exception of these two trees, this nook of the 
rock was left as it had been decorated by 
nature. On its embrowned and moist sides 
broad plants of maiden-hair glistened with their 
green and dark stars ; and tufts of wave-leaved 
hart's tongue, suspended like long ribbons of 
purpled green, floated on the wind. Near 
this grew a chain of the Madagascar periwinkle, 
the flowers of which resemble the red gili- 
flower; and the long-podded capsicum, the 
seed-vessels of which are of the color of blood, 
and more resplendent than coral. Near them, 
the herb balm, with its heart-shaped leaves, 
and the sweet basil, which has the odor of the 
clove, exhaled the most delicious perfumes. 
From the precipitous side of the mountain 
hung the graceful lianas, like floating draper- 
ies, forming magnificent canopies of vendure 
on the face of the rocks. The sea-birds, allured 
by the stillness of these retreats, resorted here 

6 Paul and Virginia 



82 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

to pass the night. At the hour of sunset we 
could perceive the curlew and the stint skim- 
ming along the sea-shore; the frigate-bird 
poised high in air ; and the white bird of the 
tropic, which abandons, with the star of day, 
the solitudes of the Indian ocean. Virginia 
took pleasure in resting herself upon the border 
of this fountain, decorated with wild and 
sublime magnificence. She often went thither 
to wash the linen of the family beneath the 
shade of the two cocoa-trees, and thither too 
she sometimes led her goats to graze. While 
she was making cheeses of their milk, she loved 
to see them browse on the maiden-hair fern 
which clothed the steep sides of the rock, and 
hung suspended by one of its cornices, as on a 
pedestal. Paul, observing that Virginia was 
fond of this spot, brought thither, from the 
neighboring forest, a great variety of birds' 
nests. The old birds following their young, 
soon established themselves in this new colony. 
Virginia, at stated times, distributed amongst 
them grains of rice, millet, and maize. As 
soon as she appeared, the whistling blackbird, 
the amadavid bird, whose note is so soft, the 
cardinal, with its flame-colored plumage, for- 
sook their bushes; the paroquet, green as an 
emerald, descended from the neighboring fan- 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 88 

palms, the partridge ran along the grass; all 
advanced promiscuously towards her, like a 
brood of chickens : and she and Paul found an 
exhaustless source of amusement in observing 
their sports, their repasts, and their loves. 

Amiable children ! thus passed your earlier 
days in innocence, and in obeying the impulses 
of kindness. How many times, on this very 
spot, have your mothers, pressing you in their 
arms, blessed Heaven for the consolation your 
unfolding virtues prepared for their declining 
years, while they at the same time enjoyed the 
satisfaction of seeing you begin life under the 
happiest auspices! How many times, beneath 
the shade of those rocks, have I partaken with 
them of your rural repasts, which never cost 
any anmial its life! Gourds full of milk, fresh 
eggs, cakes of rice served up on plantain leaves, 
with baskets of mangoes, oranges, dates, 
pomegranates, pine-apples, furnished a whole- 
some repast, the most agreeable to the eye, as 
well as delicious to the taste, that can possibly 
be imagined. 

Like the repast, the conversation was mild, 
and free from everything having a tendency to 
do harm. Paul often talked of the labors of 
the day and of the morrow. He was contin- 
ually planning something for the accommoda- 



84 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

tion of their little society. Here he discovered 
that the paths were rugged; there, that the 
seats were uncomfortable, sometimes the 
young arbors did not afford sufficient shade, and 
Virginia might be better pleased elsewhere. 

During the rainy season the two families met 
together in the cottage, and employed them- 
selves in weaving mats of grass, and baskets of 
bamboo. Rakes, spades, and hatchets were 
ranged along the walls in the most perfect 
order; and near these instruments of agricul- 
ture were heaped its products, — bags of rice, 
sheaves of corn, and baskets of plantains. 
Some degree of luxury usually accompanies 
abundance; and Virginia was taught by her 
mother and Margaret to prepare sherbet and 
cordials from the juice of the sugar-cane, the 
lemon and the citron. 

When night came, they all supped together 
by the light of a lamp ; after which Madame de 
la Tour or Margaret related some story of trav- 
elers benighted in those woods of Europe that 
are still infested by banditti; or told a dismal 
tale of some ship-wrecked vessel, thrown by 
the tempest upon the rocks of a desert island. 
To these recitals the children listened with 
eager attention, and earnestly hoped that 
Heaven would one day grant them the joy of 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 85 

performing the rites of hospitality towards 
such unfortunate persons When the time for 
repose arrived, the two families separated and 
retired for the night, eager to meet again the 
following morning. Sometimes they were 
lulled to repose by the beating of the rains, 
which fell in torrents upon the roofs of their 
cottages, and sometimes by the hollow winds, 
which brought to their ear the distant roar of 
the waves breaking upon the shore. They 
blessed God for their own safety, the feeling 
of which was brought home more forcibly to 
their minds by the sound of remote danger. 

Madame de la Tour occasionally read aloud 
some affecting history of the Old or New Testa- 
ment. Her auditors reasoned but little upon 
these sacred volumes, for their theology cen- 
tered in a feeling of devotion towards the 
Supreme Being, like that of nature ; and their 
morality was an active principle, like that of 
the Gospel. These families had no particular 
days devoted to pleasure, and others to sadness. 
Every day was to them a holiday, and all 
that surrounded them one holy temple, in which 
they ever adored the Infinite Intelligence, the 
Almighty God, the friend of human kind. A 
feeling of confidence in his supreme power 
filled their minds with consolation for the past, 



86 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 






with fortitude under present trials, and with 
hope in the future. Compelled by misfortune 
to return almost to a state of nature, these 
excellent women had thus developed in their 
own and their children's bosoms the feelings 
most natural to the human mind, and its best 
support under affliction. 

But, as clouds sometimes arise, and cast a 
gloom over the best regulated tempers, so 
whenever any member of this little society 
appeared to be laboring under dejection, the 
rest assembled around, and endeavored to ban- 
ish her painful thoughts by amusing the mind 
rather than by grave arguments against them. 
Each performed this kind office in their own 
appropriate manner: Margaret, by her gayety ; 
Madame de la Tour, by the gentle consolations 
of religion ; Virginia, by her tender caresses ; 
Paul, by his frank and engaging cordiality. 
Even Mary and Domingo hastened to offer 
their succor, and to weep with those that wept. 
Thus do weak plants interweave themselves 
with each other, in order to withstand the fury 
of the tempest. 

During the fine season, they went every Sun- 
day to the church of the Shaddock Grove, the 
steeple of which you see yonder upon the plain. 
Many wealthy members of the congregation, 






II 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 87 

who came to church in palanquins, sought the 
acquaintance of these united families, and 
invited them to parties of pleasure. But they 
always repelled these overtures with respectful 
politeness, as they were persuaded that the rich 
and powerful seek the society of persons in an 
inferior station only for the sake of surround- 
ing themselves with flatterers, and that every 
flatterer must applaud alike all the actions of 
his patron, whether good or bad. On the other 
hand, they avoided, with equal care, too inti- 
mate an acquaintance with the lower class, who 
are ordinarily jealous, calumniating, and gross. 
They thus acquired, with some, the character 
of being timid, and with others, of pride : but 
their reserve was accompanied with so much 
obliging politeness, above all towards the 
unfortunate and the unhappy, that they 
insensibly acquired the respect of the rich and 
the confidence of the poor. 

After service, some kind office was often 
required at their hands by their poor neigh- 
bors. Sometimes a person troubled in mind 
sought their advice; sometimes a child begged 
them to visit its sick mother, in one of the ad- 
joining hamlets. They always took with them 
a few remedies for the ordinary diseases of the 
country, which they administered in that sooth- 



88 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

ing manner which stamps a value upon the 
smallest favors. Above all, they met with 
singular success in administering to the dis- 
orders of the mind, so intolerable in solitude, 
and under the infirmities of a weakened frame. 
Madame de la Tour spoke with such sublime 
confidence of the Divinity, that the sick, while 
listening to her, almost believed him present. 
Virginia often returned home with her eyes 
full of tears, and her heart overflowing with 
delight, at having had an opportunity of doing 
good; for to her generally was confided the 
task of preparing and administering the medi- 
cines, — a task which she fulfilled with angelic 
sweetness. After these visits of charity, they 
sometimes extended their walk by the Sloping 
Mountain, till they reached my dwelling, 
where I used to prepare dinner for them on 
the banks of the little rivulet which glides near 
my cottage. I procured for these occasions a 
few bottles of old wine, in order to heighten 
the relish of our Oriental repast by the more 
genial productions of Europe. At other times 
we met on the seashore at the mouth of some 
little river, or rather mere brook. We brought 
from home the provisions furnished us by our 
gardens, to which we added those supplied us 
by the sea in abundant variety. We caught 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 89 

on these shores the mullet, the roach, and the 
sea-urchin, lobsters, shrimps, crabs, oysters, 
and all other kinds of shell-fish. In this way, 
we often enjoyed the most tranquil pleasures in 
situations the most terrific. Sometimes, seated 
upon a rock, under the shade of the velvet sun- 
flower-tree, we saw the enormous waves of the 
Indian Ocean break beneath our feet with a 
tremendous noise. Paul, who could swim like 
a fish, would advance on the reefs to meet the 
coming billows ; then, at their near approach, 
would run back to the beach, closely pursued 
by the foaming breakers, which threw them- 
selves, with a roaring noise, far on the sands. 
But Virginia, at this sight, uttered piercing 
cries, and said that such sports frightened her 
too much. 

Other amusements were not wanting on 
these festive occasions. Our repasts were gen- 
erally followed by the songs and dances of the 
two young people. Virginia sang the happi- 
ness of pastoral life, and the misery of those 
who were impelled by avarice to cross the rag- 
ing ocean, rather than cultivate the earth, 
and enjoy its bounties in peace. Sometimes 
she performed a pantomime with Paul, after 
the manner of- the negroes. The first language 
of man is pantomime: it is known to all na- 



90 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

tions, and is so natural and expressive, that 
the children of the European inhabitants catch 
it with facility from the negroes. Virginia, 
recalling, from among the histories which her 
mother had read to her, those which had 
affected her most, represented the principal 
events in them with beautiful simplicity. 
Sometimes at the sound of Domingo's tan tarn 
she appeared upon the green sward, bearing a 
pitcher upon her head, and advanced with a 
timid step towards the source of a neighbor- 
ing fountain to draw water. Domingo and 
Mary, personating the shepherds of Midian, 
forbade her to approach, and repulsed her 
sternly. Upon this Paul flew to her succor, 
beat away the shepherds, filled Virginia's 
pitcher, and placing it upon her head, bound 
her brows at the same time with a wreath of 
the red flowers of the Madagascar periwinkle, 
which served to heighten the delicacy of her 
complexion. Then joining in their sports, I 
took upon myself the part of Raguel, and be- 
stowed upon Paul, my daughter Zephora in 
marriage. 

Another time Virginia would represent the 
unhappy Ruth, returning poor and widowed 
with her mother-in-law, who, after so pro- 
longed an absence, found herself as unknown 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 91 

as in a foreign land. Domingo and Mary per- 
sonated the reapers. The supposed daughter 
of Naomi followed their steps, gleaming here 
and there a few ears of corn. When inter- 
rogated by Paul, — a part which he performed 
with the gravity of a patriarch, — she answered 
his questions with a faltering voice. He then, 
touched with compassion, granted an asylum 
to innocence, and hospitality to misfortune. 
He filled her lap with plenty ; and, leading her 
towards us as before the elders of the city, 
declared his purpose to take her in marriage. 
At this scene, Madame de la Tour, recalling 
the desolate situation in which she had been 
left by her relations, her widowhood, and the 
kind reception she had met with from Mar- 
garet, succeeded now by the soothing hope of 
a happy union between their children, could 
not forbear weeping ; and these mixed recollec- 
tions of good and evil caused us all to unite 
with her in shedding tears of sorrow and of 
joy. 

These dramas were performed with such an 
air of reality that you might have fancied your- 
self transported to the plains of Syria or of 
Palestine. We were not unfurnished with 
decorations, lights, or an orchestra, suitable 
to the representation. The scene was gener- 



92 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

ally placed in an open space of the forest, the 
diverging paths from which formed around us 
numerous arcades of foliage, under which we 
were sheltered from the heat all the middle of 
the day; but when the sun descended towards 
the horizon, its rays, broken by the trunks of 
the trees, darted amongst the shadows of the 
forest in long lines of light, producing the most 
magnificent effect. Sometimes its broad disk 
appeared at the end of an avenue, lighting it 
up with insufferable brightness. The foliage 
of the trees, illuminated from beneath by its 
saffron beams, glowed with the luster of the 
topaz and the emerald. Their brown and 
mossy trunks appeared transformed into 
columns of antique bronze; and the birds, 
which had retired in silence to their leafy 
shades to pass the night, surprised to see the 
radiance of the second morning, hailed the star 
of day all together with innumerable carols. 

Night often overtook us during these rural 
entertainments ; but the purity of the air and the 
warmth of the climate, admitted of our sleep- 
ing in the woods, without incurring any danger 
by exposure to the weather, and no less secure 
from the molestation of robbers. On our re- 
turn the following day to our respective habita- 
tions, we found them in exactly the same state 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 93 

in which they had been left. In this island, 
then -unsophisticated by the pursuits of com- 
merce, such were the honesty and primitive 
manners of the population, that the doors of 
many houses were without a key, and even a 
lock itself was an object of curiosity to not a 
few of the native inhabitants. 

There were, however, some days in the years 
celebrated by Paul and Virginia in a more 
peculiar manner; these were the birthdays of 
their mothers. Virginia never failed the day 
before to prepare some wheaten cakes, w r hich 
she distributed among a few poor white fam- 
ilies, born in the island, who had never eaten 
European bread. These unfortunate people, 
uncared for by the blacks, were reduced to live 
on tapioca in the woods; and as they had 
neither the insensibility which is the result of 
slavery, nor the fortitude which spring from a 
liberal education, to enable them to support 
their poverty, their situation was deplorable 
These cakes were all that Virginia had it in 
her power to give away, but she conferred the 
gift in so delicate a manner as to add tenfold 
to its value. In the first place, Paul was com- 
missioned to take the cakes himself to these 
families, and get their promise to come and 
spend the next day at Madame de la Tour's. 



94 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

Accordingly, mothers of families, with two or 
three thin, yellow, miserable-looking daughters, 
so timid that they dared not look up, made 
their appearance. Virginia soon put them at 
their ease ; she waited upon them with refresh- 
ments, the excellence of which she endeavored 
to heighten by relating some particular circum- 
stance which, in her own estimation, vastly 
improved them. One beverage had been 
prepared by Margaret; another, by her 
mother; her brother himself had climed some 
lofty tree for the very fruit she was presenting. 
She would then get Paul to dance with them, 
nor would she leave them till she saw that they 
were happy. She wished them to partake of 
the joy of her own family. "It is only, " she 
said, "by promoting the happiness of others, 
that we can secure our own." When they 
left, she generally presented them with some 
little article they seemed to fancy, enforcing 
their acceptance of it by some delicate pretext, 
that she might not appear to know they were 
in want. If she remarked that their clothes 
were much tattered, she obtained her mother's 
permission to give them some of her own, and 
then sent Paul to leave them secretly at their 
cottage doors. She thus followed the divine 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 95 

precept, — concealing the benefactor, and re- 
vealing only the benefit. 

Your Europeans, whose minds are imbued 
from infancy with prejudices at variance with 
happiness, cannot imagine all the instruction 
and pleasure to be derived from nature. Your 
souls, confined to a small sphere of intelligence, 
soon reaches the limit of its artificial enjoy- 
ments : but nature and the heart are inexhaust- 
ible. Paul and Virginia had neither clock, nor 
almanack, nor books of chronology, history or 
philosophy. The periods of their lives were 
regulated by those of the operations of nature, 
and their familiar conversation had a reference 
to the changes of the seasons. They knew the 
time of day by the shadows of the trees ; the 
seasons, by the times when those trees bore 
flowers or fruit ; and the years, by the number 
of their harvests. These soothing images 
diffused an inexpressible charm over their con- 
versation. "It is time to dine," said Virginia, 
"the shadows of the plantain- trees are at their 
roots:" or, "Night approaches, the tamarinds 
are closing their leaves." "When will you 
come and see us?" inquired some of her com- 
panions in the neighborhood. "At the time 
of the sugar-canes," answered Virginia. 
"Your visit will be then still more delightful," 



96 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

resumed her young acquaintances. When she 
was asked what was her own age and that of 
Paul, — "My brother," said she, "is as old as 
the great cocoa- tree of the fountain; and I am 
as old as the little one: the mangoes have 
borne fruit twelve times, and the orange-trees 
have flowered four-and-twenty times, since I 
came into the world." Their lives seemed 
linked to that of the trees, like those of Fauns 
or Dryads. They knew no other historical 
epochs than those of the lives of their mothers, 
no other chronology than that of their orchards, 
and no other philosophy than that of doing 
good, and resigning themselves to the will of 
Heaven. 

What need, indeed, had these young people 
of riches or learning such as ours? Rather 
their necessities and their ignorance increased 
their happiness. No day passed in which they 
were not of some service to one another, or in 
in which they did not mutually impart some 
instruction. Yes, instruction; for if errors 
mingled with it, they were, at least, not of a 
dangerous character. A pure-minded being has 
none of that description to fear. Thus grew 
these children of nature. No care had troubled 
their peace, no intemperance had corrupted 
their blood, no misplaced passion had depraved 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 97 

their hearts. Love, innocence, and piety 
possessed their souls; and those intellectual 
graces were unfolding daily in their features, 
their attitudes, and their movements. Still in 
the morning of life, they had all its blooming 
freshness: and surely such in the garden of 
Eden appeared our first parents, when coming 
from the hands of God, they first saw, and 
approached each other, and conversed together, 
like brother and sister. Virginia was gentle, 
modest, and confiding as Eve; and Paul, like 
Adam, united the stature of manhood with 
the simplicity of a child. 

Sometimes, if alone with Virginia, he has a 
thousand times told me, he used to say to her, 
on his return from labor, — "When I am 
wearied, the sight of you refreshes me. If 
from the summit of the mountain I perceive 
you below in the valley, you appear to me in 
the midst of our orchard like a blooming rose- 
bud. If you go towards our mother's house, 
the partridge, when it runs to meet its young, 
has a shape less beautiful, and a step less light. 
When I lose sight of you through the trees, I 
have no need to see you in order to find you 
again. Something of you, I know not how, 
remains for me in the air through which you 
have been passed, on the grass whereon you 

7 Paul and Virginia 



98 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

have been seated. When I come near you, 
you delight all my senses. The azure of the 
sky is less charming than the blue of your eyes, 
and the song of the amadavid bird less soft 
than the sound of your voice. If I only touch 
you with the tip of my finger, my whole frame 
trembles with pleasure. Do you remember 
the day when we crossed over the great stones 
of the river of the Three Breasts? I was very 
tired before we reached the bank: but, as soon 
as I had taken you in my arms, I' seemed to 
have wings like a bird. Tell me by what 
charm you have thus enchanted me? Is it by 
your wisdom? — Our mothers have more than 
either of us. Is it by your caresses? — They 
embrace me much oftener than you. I think 
it must be by your goodness. I shall never 
forget how you walked barefooted to the Black 
River, to ask pardon for the poor runaway slave. 
Here, my beloved, take this flowering branch 
of a lemon- tree, which I have gathered in the 
forest: you will let it remain at night near 
your bed. Eat this honeycomb too, which I 
have taken for you from the top of a rock. 
But first lean on my bosom, and I shall be 
refreshed." 

Virginia would answer him, — "Oh, my dear 
brother, the rays of the sun in the morning on 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 99 

the tops of the rocks give me less joy than the 
sight of you. I love my mother, — I love 
yours ; but when they call you their son, I love 
them a thousand times more. When they 
caress you, I feel it more sensibly than when 
I am caressed myself. You ask me what 
makes you love me. Why, all creatures that 
are brought up together love one another. 
Look at our birds ; reared up in the same nests, 
they love each other as we do ; they are always 
together like us. Hark! how they call and 
answer from one tree to another. So when the 
echoes bring to my ears the air which you play 
on your flute on the top of the mountain, I 
repeat the words at the bottom of the valley. 
You are dear to me more especially since the 
day when you wanted to fight the master of the 
slave for me. Since that time how often have 
I said to myself, ' Ah, my brother has a good 
heart; but for him, I should have died of 
terror.' I pray to God every day for my 
mother and for yours, and for our poor serv- 
ants; but when I pronounce your name, my 
devotion seems to increase ; — I ask so earnestly 
of God that no harm may befall you ! Why do 
you go so far, and climb so high, to seek fruits 
and flowers for me? Have we not enough in 
our garden already? How much you are 



100 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

fatigued, — you look so warm!" — and with her 
little white handkerchief she would wipe the 
damps from his face, and then imprint a tender 
kiss on his forehead. 

For sometime past, however, Virginia had 
felt her heart agitated by new sensations. Her 
beautiful blue eyes lost their luster, her cheek 
its freshness, and her frame was overpowered 
with a universal languor. Serenity no longer 
sat upon her brow, nor smiles played upon her 
lips. She would become all at once gay without 
cause for joy, and melancholy without any 
subject for grief. She fled her innocent amuse- 
ments, her gentle toils, and even the society 
of her beloved family; wandering about the 
most unfrequented parts of the plantations, 
and seeking everywhere the rest which she 
could nowhere find. Sometimes, at the sight 
of Paul, she advanced sportively to meet him ; 
but, when about to accost him, was overcome 
by a sudden confusion; her pale cheeks were 
covered with blushes, and her eyes no longer 
dared to meet those of her brother. Paul said 
to her, — "The rocks are covered with verdure, 
our birds, begin to sing when you approach, 
everything around you is gay, and you only 
are unhappy. " He then endeavored to soothe 
her by his embraces, but she turned away her 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 101 

head, and fled, trembling, towards her mother. 
The caresses of her brother excited too much 
emotion in her agitated heart, and she sought, 
in the arms of her mother, refuge from her- 
self. Paul, unused to the secret windings of 
the female heart, vexed himself in vain in 
endeavoring to comprehend the meaning of 
these new and strange caprices. Misfortunes 
seldom come alone, and a serious calamity now 
impended over these families. 

One of those summers, which sometimes 
desolate the countries situated between the 
tropics, now began to spread its ravages over 
this island. It was near the end of December, 
when the sun, in Capricorn, darts over the 
Mauritius, during the space of three weeks, its 
vertical fires. The southeast wind, which pre- 
vails throughout almost the whole year, no 
longer blew. Vast columns of dust arose from 
the highways, and hung suspended in the air; 
the ground was everywhere broken into clefts ; 
the grass was burnt up ; hot exhalations issued 
from the sides of the mountains, and their riv- 
ulets, for the most part, became dry. No 
refreshing cloud ever arose from the sea: fiery 
vapors, only, during the day, ascended from the 
plains, and appeared, at sunset, like the reflec- 
tion of a vast conflagration. Night brought no 



102 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

coolness to the heated atmosphere; and the 
red moon rising in the misty horizon, appeared 
of supernatural magnitude. The drooping 
cattle, on the sides of the hills, stretching out 
their necks towards heaven, and panting for 
breath, made the valleys re-echo with their 
melancholy lowings: even the Caffre by whom 
they were led, threw himself upon the earth, 
in search of some cooling moisture: but his 
hopes were vain ; the scorching sun had pene- 
trated the whole soil, and the stifling atmos- 
phere everywhere resounded with the buzzing 
noise of insects, seeking to allay their thirst 
with the blood of men and of animals. 

During this sultry season, Virginia's restless- 
ness and disquietude were much increased. 
One night, in particular, being unable to 
sleep, she arose from her bed, sat down, and 
returned to rest again ; but could find in no at- 
titude either slumber or repose. At length she 
bent her way, by the light of the moon, towards 
her fountain, and gazed at its spring, which, 
notwithstanding the drought, still trickled, in 
silver threads down the brown sides of the 
rock. She flung herself into the basin: its 
coolness reanimated her spirits, and a thousand 
soothing remembrances came to her mind. 
She recollected that in her infancy her mother 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 103 

and Margaret had amused themselves by bath- 
ing her with Paul in this very spot ; that he 
afterwards reserving this bath for her sole use, 
had hollowed out its bed, covered the bottom 
with sand, and sown aromatic herbs around its 
borders. She saw in the water, upon her naked 
arms and bosom, the reflection of the two cocoa 
trees which were planted at her own and her 
brother's birth, and which interwove above her 
head their green branches and young fruit. 
She thought of Paul's friendship, sweeter than 
the odor of the blossoms, purer than the waters 
of the fountain, stronger than the interwining 
palm-tree, and she sighed. Reflecting on the 
hour of the night, and the profound solitude, 
her imagination became disturbed. Suddenly 
she flew, affrighted, from those dangerous 
shades, and those waters which seemed to her 
hotter than the tropical sunbeam, and ran to 
her mother for refuge. More than once, wish- 
ing to reveal her sufferings, she pressed her 
mother's hand within her own; more than 
once she w T as ready to pronounce the name of 
Paul : but her oppressed heart left her lips no 
power of utterance, and, leaning her head on 
her mother's bosom, she bathed it with her 
tears. 

Madame de la Tour, though she easily dis- 



104 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

cerned the source of her daughter's uneasiness, 
did not think proper to speak to her on the sub- 
ject. "My dear child," said she, "offer up 
your supplications to God, who disposes at his 
will of health and of life. He subjects you to 
trial now, in order to recompense you here- 
after. Remember that we are only placed 
upon earth for the exercise of virtue. ' ' 

The excessive heat in the meantime raised 
vast masses of vapor from the ocean, which 
hung over the island like an immense parasol, 
and gathered round the summits of the moun- 
tains. Long flakes of fire issued from time to 
time from these mist-embosomed peaks. 
The most awful thunder soon after re-echoed 
through the woods, the plains, and the valleys; 
the rains fell from the skies in cataracts; foam- 
ing torrents rushed down the sides of this 
mountain ; the bottom of the valley became a 
sea, and the elevated platform on which the cot- 
tages were built, a little island. The accumu- 
lated waters, having no other outlet, rushed 
with violence through the narrow gorge which 
leads into the valley, tossing and roaring, and 
bearing along with them a mingled wreck of 
soil, trees, and rocks. 

The trembling families meantime addressed 
their prayers to God all together in the cottage 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 105 

of Madame de la Tour, the roof of which 
cracked fearfully from the force of the winds. 
So incessant and vivid were the lightnings, 
that although the doors and window-shutters 
were securely fastened, every object without 
could be distinctly seen through the joints in 
the woodwork ! Paul, followed by Domingo, 
went with intrepidity from one cottage to 
another, notwithstanding the fury of the 
tempest; here supporting a partition with a 
buttress, there driving in a stake; and only 
returning to the family to calm their fears, by 
the expression of a hope that the storm was 
passing away. Accordingly, in the evening the 
rains ceased, the trade-winds of the south-east 
pursued their ordinary course, the tempestuous 
clouds were driven away to the northward, and 
the setting sun appeared in the horizon. 

Virginia's first wish was to visit the spot 
called her Resting-place. Paul approached 
her with a timid air, and offered her the assist- 
ance of his arm ; she accepted it with a smile, 
and they left the cottage together. The air 
was clear and fresh ; white vapors arose from 
the ridges of the mountain, which was fur- 
rowed here and there by the courses of tor- 
rents, marked in foam, and now beginning to 
dry up on all sides. As for the garden, it was 



106 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

completely torn to pieces by deep water-courses, 
the roots of most of the fruit-trees were laid 
bare, and vast heaps of sand covered the bor- 
ders of the meadows, and had choked up Vir- 
ginia's bath. The two cocoa trees, however, 
were still erect, and still retained their fresh- 
ness; but they were no longer surrounded by 
turf, or arbors, or birds, except a few amadavid 
birds, which, upon the points of the neighbor- 
ing rocks, were lamenting, in plaintive notes, 
the loss of their young. 

At the sight of this general desolation, Vir- 
ginia exclaimed to Paul, — "You brought birds 
hither, and the hurricane has killed them. You 
planted this garden, and it is now destroyed. 
Everything then upon earth perishes, and it 
is only Heaven that is not subject to change. " 
— "Why," answered Paul, "cannot I give you 
something that belongs to heaven? but I have 
nothing of my own, even upon the earth." 
Virginia with a blush replied, "You have the 
picture of St. Paul. ' ' As soon as she had ut- 
tered the words, he flew in quest of it to his 
mother's cottage. This picture was a minia- 
ture of Paul the Hermit, which Margaret, who 
viewed it with feelings of great devotion, had 
worn at her neck while a girl, and which, after 
she became a mother, she had placed round 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 107 

her child's. It had even happened, that being, 
while pregnant, abandoned by all the world, 
and constantly occupied in contemplating the 
image of this benevolent recluse, her offspring 
had contracted some semblance to this revered 
object. She, therefore, bestowed upon him 
the name of Paul, giving him for his patron a 
saint who had passed his life far from mankind 
by whom he had been first deceived and then 
forsaken. Virginia, on receiving this little 
present from the hands of Paul, said to him, 
with emotion, "My dear brother, I will never 
part with his while I live ; nor will I ever for- 
get that you have given me the only thing you 
have in this world. ' ' At this tone of friend- 
ship, — this unhoped-for return of familiarity 
and tenderness, Paul attempted to embrace 
her ; but, light as a bird, she escaped him, and 
fled away, leaving him astonished, and unable 
to account for conduct so extraordinary. 

Meanwhile Margaret said to Madame de la 
Tour, "Why do we not unite our children by 
marriage? They have a strong attachment for 
each other, and though my son hardly under- 
stands the real nature of his feelings, yet great 
care and watchfulness will be necessary. Un- 
der such circumstances, it will be as well not to 
leave them too much together." Madame de 



108 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

la Tour replied, "They are too young, and too 
poor. What grief would it occasion us to see 
Virginia bring into the world unfortunate chil- 
dren, whom she would not perhaps have suffi- 
cient strength to rear ! Your negro, Domingo, 
is almost too old to labor ; Mary is infirm. As 
for myself, my dear friend, at the end of fifteen 
years, I find my strength greatly decreased; 
the feebleness of age advances rapidly in hot 
climates, and, above all, under the pressure of 
misfortune. Paul is our only hope : let us wait 
till he comes to maturity, and his increased 
strength enables him to support us by his la- 
bor, at present you well know that we have 
only sufficient to supply the wants of the day; 
but were we to send Paul for a short time to 
the Indies, he might acquire, by commerce, the 
means of purchasing some slaves; and at his 
return we could unite him to Virginia; for I 
am persuaded no one on earth would render 
her so happy as your son. We will consult our 
neighbor on this subject. ' f 

They accordingly asked my advice, which was 
in accordance with Madame de la Tour's opin- 
ion. "The Indian seas, " I observed to them, 
"are calm, and, in choosing a favorable time of 
the year, the voyage out is seldom longer than 
six weeks; and the same time may be allowed 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 109 

for the return home. We will furnish Paul with 
a little venture from my neighborhood, where 
he is much beloved. If we were only to sup- 
ply him with some raw cotton, of which we 
make no use for want of mills to work it, some 
ebony which is here so common that it serves 
us for firing, and some rosin, which is found in 
our woods, he would be able to sell those arti- 
cles, though useless here, to good advantage 
in the Indies. • ' 

I took upon myself to obtain permission from 
Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to undertake this 
voyage; and I determined previously to men- 
tion the affair to Paul. But what was my sur- 
prise, when this young man said to me, with a 
degree of good sense above his age ? "And why 
do you wish me to leave my family for this 
precarious pursuit of fortune? Is there any 
commerce in the world more advantageous than 
the culture of the ground, which yields some- 
times fifty or a hundred-fold? If we wish to 
engage in commerce, can we not do so by car- 
rying our superfluities to the town without my 
wandering to the Indies? Our mothers tell 
me that Domingo is old and feeble; but I am 
young, and gather strength every day. If any 
accident should happen during my absence, 



110 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

above all to Virginia, who already suffers — Oh, 
no no! — I cannot resolve to leave them." 

So decided an answer threw me into great 
perplexity, for Madame de la Tour had not 
concealed from me the cause of Virginia's ill- 
ness and want of spirits, and her desire of sep- 
arating these young people till they were a few 
years older. I took care, however, not to drop 
anything which could lead Paul to suspect the 
existence of these motives. 

About this period a ship from France brought 
Madame de la Tour a letter from her aunt. 
The fear of death, without which hearts as in- 
sensible as hers would never feel f had alarmed 
her into compassion. When she wrote she was 
recovering from a dangerous illness, which 
had, however, left her incurably languid and 
weak. She desired her niece to return to 
France; or, if her health forbade her to under- 
take so long a voyage, she begged her to send 
Virginia, on whom she promised to bestow a 
good education, to procure for her a splendid 
marriage and to leave her heiress of her whole 
fortune. She concluded by enjoining strict 
obedience to her will, in gratitude, she said, 
for her great kindness. 

At the perusal of this letter general conster- 
nation spread itself through the whole assem- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Ill 

bled party. Domingo and Mary began to 
weep. Paul, motionless with surprise, ap- 
peared almost ready to burst with indignation ; 
while Virginia, fixing her eyes anxiously upon 
her mother, had not power to utter a single 
word. "And can you now leave us?*' -cried 
Margaret to Madame de la Tour. "No, my 
dear friend, no, my beloved children,' ' replied 
Madame de la Tour. "I will never leave you 
I have lived with you, arid with you I will die. 
I have known no happiness but in your affec- 
tion. If my health be deranged, my past mis- 
fortunes are the cause. My heart has been 
deeply wounded by the cruelty of my relations, 
and by the loss of my beloved husband. But 
I have since found more consolation and more 
real happiness with you in these humble huts, 
than all the wealth of my family could now lead 
me to expect in my own country. ' ' 

At this soothing language every eye over- 
flowed with tears of delight. Paul, pressing 
Madame de la Tour in his arms, exclaimed, — 
44 Neither will I leave you! I will not go to the 
Indies. We will all labor for you, dear mam- 
ma, and you shall never feel any want with 
us. 7 ' But of the whole society, the person who 
displayed the least transport, and who probably 
felt the most, was Virginia; and during the 



112 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

remainder of the day, the gentle gayety which 
flowed from her heart, and proved that her 
peace of mind was restored, completed the gen- 
eral satisfaction. 

At sunrise the next day, just as they had 
concluded offering up, as usual, their morning 
prayer before breakfast, Domingo came to in- 
form them that a gentleman on horseback, fol- 
lowed by two slaves, was coming towards the 
plantation. It was Monsieur de la Bourdon- 
nais. He entered the cottage, where he found 
the family at breakfast. Virginia had pre- 
pared, according to the custom of the country, 
coffee, and rice boiled in water. To these she 
had added hot yams, and fresh plantains. The 
leaves of the plantain-tree supplied the want of 
table linen ; and calabash shells, split in two, 
served for cups. The Governor exhibited, at 
first, some astonishment at the homeliness of 
the dwelling; then, addressing himself to 
Madame de la Tour, he observed, that although 
public affairs drew his attention too much from 
the concerns of individuals, she had many 
claims on his good offices. "You have an aunt 
at Paris, madam," he added, "a woman of 
quality, and immensely rich, who expects that 
you will hasten to see her, and who means to 
bestow upon you her whole fortune. ' ' Madame 




It was Monsieur de la Bourdonnais." — Page 112, 

Paul and Virginia. 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 113 

de la Tour replied that the state of her health 
would not permit her to undertake so long a 
voyage. "At least/' resumed Monsieur de la 
Bourdonnais, "you cannot without injustice, 
deprive this amiable young lady, your daughter, 
of so noble an inheritance. I will not conceal 
from you, that your aunt has made use of her 
influence to secure your daughter being sent 
to her; and that I have received official letters, 
in which I am ordered to exert my authority, if 
necessary, to that effect. But as I only wish 
to employ my power for the purpose of render- 
ing the inhabitants of this country happy, I ex- 
pect from your good sense the voluntary sacri- 
fice of a few years, upon which your daughter's 
establishment in the world, and the welfare of 
your whole life depends. Wherefore do we 
come to these islands? Is it not to acquire a 
fortune? And will it not be more agreeable to 
return and find it in your own country?" 

He then took a large bag of piastres from 
one of his slaves, and placed it upon the table. 
'This sum," he continued, "is allotted by your 
aunt to defray the outlay necessary for the 
equipment of the young lady for her voyage. " 
Gently reproaching Madame de la Tour for not 
having had recourse to him in her difficulties, 
he extolled at the same time her noble forti- 

8 Paul and Virginia 



114 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

tude. Upon this Paul said to the Governor, — 
"My mother did apply to you, sir, and you re- 
ceived her ill." — ''Have you another child, 
madam/' said Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to 
Madame de la Tour. "No, sir," she replied, 
"this is the son of my friend; but he and Vir- 
ginia are equally dear to us, and we mutually 
consider them both as our own children." 
"Young man," said the Governor to Paul, 
"when you have acquired a little more experi- 
ence of the world, you will know that it is the 
misfortune of people in place to be deceived, 
and bestow, in consequence, upon intriguing 
vice, that which they would wish to give to 
modest merit. " 

Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, at the request 
of Madame de la Tour, placed himself next to 
her at the table, and breakfasted after the 
manner of the Creoles, upon coffee, mixed with 
rice boiled in water. He was delighted with 
the order and cleanliness which prevailed in 
the little cottage, the harmony of the two inter- 
esting families, and the zeal of their old serv- 
ants. "Here," he exclaimed, M I discern only 
wooden furniture: but I find serene counte- 
nances and hearts of gold. ' ' Paul, enchanted 
with the affability of the Governor, said to 
him, — "I wish to be your friend, for you are 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 115 

a good man." Monsieur de la Bourdonnais. 
received with pleasure this insular compli- 
ment, and, taking Paul by the hand, assured 
him he might rely upon his friendship. 

After breakfast, he took Madame de la Tour 
aside and informed her that an opportunity 
would soon offer itself of sending her daughter 
to France, in a ship which was going to sail in 
a short time; that he would put her under 
the charge of a lady, one of the passengers, 
who was a relation of his own ; and that she 
must not think of renouncing an immense for- 
tune, on account of the pain of being separated 
from her daughter for a brief interval. " Your 
aunt," he added, M cannot live more than two 
years; of this I am assured by her friends. 
Think of it seriously. Fortune does not visit 
us every day. Consult your friends. I am 
sure that every person of good sense will be of 
my opinion. " She answered, "that, as she de- 
sired no other happiness henceforth in the 
world than in promoting that of her daughter, 
she hoped to be allowed to leave her departure 
for France entirely to her own inclination. ' ' 

Madame de la Tour was not sorry to find an 
opportunity of separating Paul and Virginia for 
a short time, and provide, by this means, for 
their mutual felicity at a future period. She 



116 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

took her daughter aside, and said to her, — "My 
dear child, our servants are now old. Paul is 
still very young, Margaret is advanced in 
years, and I am already infirm. If I should 
die what would become of you, without for- 
tune, in the midst of these deserts? You 
would then be left alone, without any person 
who could afford you much assistance, and 

J 7 

would be obliged to labor without ceasing, as a 
hired servant, in order to support your 
wretched existence. This idea overcomes me 
with sorrow. ' ' Virginia answered, — ' * God has 
appointed us to labor, and to bless him every 
day. Up to this time he has never forsaken 
us, and he never will forsake us in time to 
come. His providence watches most espe- 
cially over the unfortunate. You have told me 
this very often, my dear mother! I cannot 
resolve to leave you. " Madame de la Tour 
replied, with much emotion,— "I have no other 
aim than to render you happy, and to marry 
you one day to Paul, who is not really your 
brother. Remember, then, that his fortune 
depends upon you." 

A young girl who is in love believes that 
every one else is ignorant of her passion ; she 
throws over her eyes the veil with which she 
covers the feelings of her heart ; but when it 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 117 

is once lifted by a friendly hand, the hidden 
sorrows of her attachment escape as through a 
newly-opened barrier, and the sweet outpour- 
ings of unrestrained confidence succeed to her 
former mystery and reserve. Virginia, deeply 
affected by this new pioof of her mother's ten- 
derness, related to her the cruel struggles she 
had undergone, of which heaven alone had 
been witness; she saw, she said, the hand of 
Providence in the assistance of an affectionate 
mother, who approved of her attachment ; and 
would guide her by her counsels ; and as she 
was now strengthened by such support, every 
consideration led her to remain with her 
mother, without anxiety for the present, and 
without apprehension for the future. 

Madame de la Tour, perceiving that this 
confidential conversation had produced an 
effect altogether different from that which she 
expected, said, — "My dear child, I do not wish 
to constrain you ; think over it at leisure, but 
conceal your affection from Paul. It is better 
not to let a man know that the heart of his mis- 
tress is gained." 

Virginia and her mother were sitting to- 
gether by themselves the same evening, when 
a tall man, dressed in a blue cassock, entered 
their cottage. He was a missionary priest and 



118 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

the confessor of Madame de la Tour and her 
daughter, who had now been sent them by the 
Governor. "My children," he exclaimed as 
he entered, "God be praised ! you are now rich. 
You can now attend to the kind suggestions of 
your benevolent hearts, and do good to the 
poor. I know what Monsieur de la Bourdon- 
nais has said to you, and what you have said in 
reply. Your health, dear madam, obliges you 
to remain here ; but you, young lady, are 
without excuse. We must obey the directions 
of Providence : and we must also obey our aged 
relations, even when they are unjust. A sacri- 
fice is required of you ; but it is the will of God. 
Our Lord devoted himself for you; and you 
in imitation of his example, must give up 
something for the welfare of your family. 
Your voyage to France will end happily. You 
will surely consent to go, my dear young 
lady." 

Virginia, with dowmcast eyes, answered, 
trembling, "If it is the command of God, I will 
not presume to oppose it. Let the will of God 
be done!" As she uttered these words, she 
wept. 

The priest went away, in order to inform the 
Governor of the success of his mission. In the 
meantime Madame de la Tour sent Domingo 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 119 

to request me to come to her, that she might 
consult me respecting Virginia's departure. I 
was not at all of opinion that she ought to go. 
I consider it as a fixed principle of happiness 
that we ought to prefer the advantages of 
nature to those of fortune, and never go in 
search of that at a distance, which we may- 
find at home, — in our own bosoms. But what 
could be expected from my advice, in opposi- 
tion to the illusions of a splendid fortune? — or 
from my simple reasoning, when in competi- 
tion with the prejudices of the world, and an 
authority held sacred by Madame de la Tour? 
This lady indeed had only consulted me out of 
politeness; she had ceased to deliberate since 
she had heard the decision of her confessor. 
Margaret herself, who, notwithstanding the 
advantages she expected for her son from the 
possession of Virginia's fortune, had hitherto 
opposed her departure, made no further objec- 
tions. As for Paul, in ignorance of what had 
been determined, but alarmed at the secret 
conversations which Virginia had been holding 
with her mother, he abandoned himself to 
melancholy. "They are plotting something 
against me," cried he ; "for they conceal every- 
thing from me." 

A report having in the meantime been 



120 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

spread in the island that fortune had visited 
these rocks, merchants of every description 
were seen climbing their steep ascent. Now, 
for the first time, were seen displayed in these 
humble huts the richest stuffs of India; the 
fine dimity of Gondelore ; the handkerchiefs of 
Pellicate and Masulipatan ; the plain, striped, 
and embroidered muslins of Dacca, so beauti- 
fully transparent ; the delicate white cottons of 
Surat, and linens of all colors. They also 
brought with them the gorgeous silks of China, 
satin damasks, some white, and others grass- 
green and bright red; pink taffetas, with a 
profusion of satins and gauze of Tonquin, both 
plain and decorated with flowers ; soft pekins, 
downy as cloth ; with white and yellow nan- 
keens, and the calicoes of Madagascar. 

Madame de la Tour wished her daughter to 
purchase whatever she liked; she only ex- 
amined the goods, and inquired the price, to 
take care that the dealers did not cheat her. 
Virginia made choice of everything she 
thought would be useful or agreeable to her 
mother, or to Margaret and her son. "This, " 
said she, "will be wanted for furnishing the 
cottage, and that will be very useful to Mary 
and Domingo." In short, the bag of piastres' 
was almost emptied before she even began to 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 121 

consider her own wants; and she was obliged 
to receive back for her own use a share of the 
presents which she had distributed among the 
family circle. 

Paul, overcome with sorrow at the sight of 
these gifts of fortune, which he felt were a 
presage of Virginia's departure, came a few 
days after to my dwelling. With an air of 
deep despondency he said to me, — "My sister 
is going away ; she is already making prepara- 
tions for her voyage. I conjure you to come 
and exert your influence over her mother and 
mine, in order to detain her here.'' I could 
not refuse the young man's solicitations, 
although well convinced that my representa- 
tions would be unavailing. 

Virginia had ever appeared to me charming 
when clad in the coarse cloth of Bengal, with a 
red handkerchief tied around her head : you 
may therefore imagine how much her beauty 
was increased when she was attired in the 
graceful and elegant costume worn by the ladies 
of this country! She had on a white muslin 
dress, lined with pink taffeta. Her somewhat 
tall and slender figure was shown to advantage 
in her new attire, and the simple arrangement 
of her hair accorded admirably with the form 
of her head. Her fine blue eyes were filled 



122 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

with an expression of melancholy; and the 
struggles of passion, with which her heart was 
agitated, imparted a flush to her cheek, and to 
her voice a tone of deep emotion. The con- 
trast between her pensive look and her gay 
habiliments rendered her more interesting than 
ever, nor was it possible to see or hear her un- 
moved. Paul became more and more melan- 
choly; and at length Margaret, distressed at 
the situation of her son, took him aside, and 
said to him, — "Why, my dear child, will you 
cherish vain hopes, which will only render 
your disappointment more bitter? It is time 
for me to make known to you the secret of your 
life and of mine Mademoiselle de la Tour be- 
longs, by her mother's side, to a rich and noble 
family, while you are but the son of a poor 
peasant girl ; and what is worse, you are illegi- 
timate. ' ' 

Paul, who had never heard this last expres- 
sion before, inquired with eagerness its mean- 
ing. His mother replied, "I was not married 
to your father. When I was a girl, seduced 
by love, I was guilty of a weakness of which 
you are the offspring. The consequence of 
my fault is, that you are deprived of the pro- 
tection of a father's family, and by my flight 
from home you have also lost that of your 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 123 

mother's. Unfortunate child! you have no re- 
lation in the world but me!" — and she shed a 
flood of tears. Paul, pressing her in his arms, 
exclaimed, "Oh, my dear mother! since I 
have no relation in the world but you, I will 
love you all the more. But what a secret have 
you just disclosed to me ! I now see the reason 
why Mademoiselle de la Tour has estranged 
herself so much from me for the last two 
months, and why she has determined to go to 
France. Ah ! I perceive too well that she de- 
spises me!" 

The hour of supper being arrived, we gath- 
ered round the table ; but the different sensa- 
tions with which we were agitated left, us little 
inclination to eat, and the meal, if such it may 
be called, passed in silence. Virginia was the 
first to rise ; she went out, and seated herself 
on the very spot where we now are. Paul has- 
tened after her, and sat down by her side. 
Both of them, for some time, kept a profound 
silence. It was one of those delicious nights 
which are so common between the tropics, and 
to the beauty of which no pencil can do justice. 
The moon appeared in the midst of the firma- 
ment, surrounded by a curtain of clouds, which 
was gradually unfolded by her beams. Her 
light insensibly spread itself over the moun- 



124 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

tains of the island, and their distant peaks glis- 
tened with a silvery green. The winds were 
perfectly still. We heard among the woods, at 
the bottom of the valleys, and on the summits 
of the rocks, the piping cries and the soft 
notes of the birds, wantoning in their nests, 
and rejoicing in the brightness of the night and 
the serenity of the atmosphere. The hum of 
insects was heard in the grass. The stars 
sparkled in the heavens, and their lucid orbs 
were reflected, in trembling sparkles, from the 
tranquil bosom of the ocean. Virginia* s eye 
wandered distractedly over its vast and gloomy 
horizon, distinguishable from the shore of the 
island only by the red fires in the fishing 
boats. She perceived at the entrance of the 
harbor a light and a shadow ; these were the 
watch-light and the hull of the vessel in 
which she was to embark for Europe, and 
which, all ready for sea, lay at anchor, waiting 
for a breeze, Affected at this sight, she turned 
away her head, in order to hide her tears from 
Paul. 

Madame de la Tour, Margaret, and I, were 
seated at a little distance, beneath the plantain 
trees; and, owing to the stillness of the night, 
we distinctly heard their conversation, which I 
have not forgotten 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 125 

Paul said to her, — " You are going away from 
us, they tell me, in three days. You do not 
fear then to encounter the danger of the sea, 
at the sight of which you are so much terri- 
fied ?" "I must perform my duty, " answered 
Virginia, "by obeying my parent. 1 ' "You 
leave us," resumed Paul, "for a distant rela- 
tion, whom you have never seen." "Alas!" 
cried Virginia, "I would have remained here 
my whole life, but my mother would not have 
it so. My confessor, too, told me it was the 
will of God that I should go, and that life was 
a scene of trials ! — and oh ! this is indeed a se- 
vere one." 

"What!" exclaimed Paul, "you could find so 
many reasons for going, and not one for re- 
maining here! Ah! there is one reason for 
your departure that you have not mentioned. 
Riches have great attractions. You will soon 
find in the new world to which you are going, 
another, to whom you will give the name of 
brother, which you bestow on me no more, 
You will choose that brother from amongst 
persons who are worthy of you by their birth, 
and by a fortune which I have not to offer. 
But where can you go to be happier? On what 
shore will you land, and find it dearer to you 
than the spot which gave you birth? — and 



126 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

where will you form around you a society more 
delightful to you than this, by which you are 
so much beloved? How will you bear to live 
without your mother's caresses, to which you 
are so much accustomed? What will become 
of her, already advanced in years, when she 
no longer sees you at her side at table, in the 
house, in the walks, where she used to lean 
upon you? What will become of my mother, 
who loves you w r ith the same affection? What 
shall I say to comfort them when I see them 
weeping for your absence? Cruel Virginia! I 
say nothing to you of myself; but what will 
become of me, when in the morning I shall no 
more see you ; when the evening will come, 
and not reunite us? — when I shall gaze on these 
two palm trees, planted at our birth, and so 
long the witnesses of our mutual friendship? 
Ah! since your lot is changed, — since you seek 
in a far country other possessions than the 
fruits of my labor, let me go with you in the 
vessel in which you are about to embark, I 
will sustain your spirits in the midst of those 
tempests which terrify you so much even on 
shore. I will lay my head upon your bosom , 
I w r ill warm your heart upon my own , and in 
France, where you are going in search of for- 
tune and of grandeur, I will wait upon you as 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 127 

your slave. Happy only in your happiness, 
you will find me, in those palaces where I shall 
see you receiving the homage and adoration of 
all, rich and noble enough to make you the 
greatest of all sacrifices, by dying at your feet. ' ' 

The violence of his emotions stopped his ut- 
terance, and we then heard Virginia, who, in a 
voice broken by sobs, uttered these words: — 
"It is for you that I go, — for you whom I see 
tired to death every day by the labor of sus- 
taining two helpless families. If I have ac- 
cepted this opportunity of becoming rich, it is 
only to return a thousand-fold the good which 
you have done us. Can any fortune be equal 
to your friendship? Why do you talk about 
your birth? Ah ! it if were possible for me still 
to have a brother, should I make choice of any 
other than you? Oh, Paul, Paul! you are far 
dearer to me than a brother! How much has 
it cost me to repulse you from me! Help me 
to tear myself from what I value more than 
existence, till Heaven shall bless our union. 
But I will stay or go, — I will live or die, — dis- 
pose of me as you will. Unhappy that I am! 
I could have repelled your caresses ; but I can- 
not support your affliction. * * 

At these words, Paul seized her in his arms, 
and, holding her pressed close to his bosom, 



128 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

said, in a piercing tone, "I will go with her, — 
nothing shall ever part us." We all ran to- 
wards him ; and Madame de la Tour said to 
him, "My son, if you go, what will become of 
us!" 

He, trembling, repeated after her the words, 
— "My son — my son! You my mother !" cried 
he: "you, who would separate the brother 
from the sister ! We have both been nourished 
at your bosom; we have both been reared 
upon your knees; we have learnt of you to 
love one another; we have said so a thousand 
times ; and now you would separate her from 
me * — you would send her to Europe, that in- 
hospitable country which refused you an asy- 
lum and to relations by whom you yourself 
were abandoned. You will tell me that I have 
no right over her, and that she is not my sis- 
ter. She is everything to me ; my riches, my 
birth, my family, — all that I have! I know 
no other. We have had but one roof, — one 
cradle, — and we will have but one grave! If 
she goes, I will follow her. The Governor 
will prevent me! Will he prevent me from 
flinging myself into the sea? — will he prevent 
me from following her by swimming? The sea 
cannot be more fatal to me than the land. 
Since I cannot live with her, at least I will die 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 129 

before her eyes, far from you. Inhuman 
mother ! — woman without compassion ! — may 
the ocean to which you trust her, restore her to 
you no more! May the waves, rolling back 
our bodies amid the shingles of this beach, 
give you, in the loss of your two children, an 
eternal subject of remorse!" 

At these words, I seized him in my arms, 
for despair had deprived him of reason. His 
eyes sparkled with fire, the perspiration fell in 
great drops from his face ; his knees trembled, 
and I felt his heart beat violently against his 
burning bosom. 

Virginia, alarmed, said to him, — ''Oh, my 
dear Paul. I call to witness the pleasures of our 
early age, your griefs and my own, and every- 
thing that can forever bind two unfortunate 
beings to each other, that if I remain at home, 
I will live but for you; that if I go, I will one 
day return to be yours. I call you all to wit- 
ness ; — you who have reared me. from my in- 
fancy, who dispose of my life, and who see my 
tears. I swear by that Heaven which hears 
me, by the sea which I am going to pass, by 
the air I breathe, and which I never sullied by 
a falsehood. ' ' 

As the sun softens and precipitates an icy 
rock from the summit of one of the Apen- 

9 Paul and Virginia 



130 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

nines, so the impetuous passions of the young 
man were subdued by the voice of her he 
loved. He bent his head, and a torrent of 
tears fell from his eyes. His mother, ming- 
ling her tears with his, held him in her arms, 
but was unable to speak. Madame de la Tour, 
half-distracted, said to me, "I can bear this no 
longer. My heart is quite broken. This un- 
fortunate voyage shall not take place. Do take 
my son home with you. Not one of us has 
had any rest the whole week. ' ' 

I said to Paul, "My dear friend, your sister 
shall remain here. To-morrow we will talk to 
the Governor " about it; leave your family to 
take some rest, and come and pa;ss the night 
with me. It is late ; it is midnight ; the south- 
ern cross is just above the horizon. " 

He suffered himself to be led away in silence ; 
and, after a night of great agitation, he arose 
at break of day, and returned home. 

But why should I continue any longer to you 
the recital of this history? There is but one 
aspect of human existence which we can ever 
contemplate with pleasure. Like the globe 
upon which we revolve, the fleeting course of 
life is but a day; and if one part of that day 
be visited by light, the other is thrown into 
darkness. 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 131 

"My father," I answered, "finish, I conjure 
you, the history which 3^ou have begun in a 
manner so interesting. If the images of hap- 
piness are the most pleasing, those of misfor- 
tune are the more instructive. Tell me what 
became of the unhappy young man." 

The first object beheld by Paul in his way 
home was the negro woman Mary, who, 
mounted on a rock, w T as earnestly looking 
towards the sea. As soon as he perceived 
her. he called to her from a distance, — "Where 
is Virginia?" Mary turned her head towards 
her young master, and began to weep. Paul, 
distracted, retracing his steps, ran to the har- 
bor. He was informed that Virginia had 
embarked at the break of day, and that the 
vessel had immediately set sail, and was now 
out of sight. He instantly returned to the 
plantation, which he crossed without uttering 
a word. 

Quite perpendicular as appears the walls of 
rocks behind us, those green platforms which 
separate their summits are so many stages, by 
means of which you may reach, through some 
difficult paths, that cone of sloping and inac- 
cessible rocks, which is called The Thumb. 
At the foot of that cone is an extended slope 
of ground, covered with lofty trees, and so steep 



132 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

and elevated that it looks like a forest in the 
air, surrounded by tremendous precipices. 
The clouds, which are constantly attracted 
round the summit of The Thumb, supply 
innumerable rivulets, which fall to so great a 
depth in the valley situated on the other side 
of the mountain, that from this elevated point 
the sound of their cataracts cannot be heard. 
From that spot you can discern a considerable 
part of the island, diversified by precipices and 
mountain peaks, and amongst others, Peter- 
Booth, and the Three Breasts, with their val- 
leys full of woods. You also command an 
extensive view of the ocean, and can even per- 
ceive the Isle of Bourbon, forty leagues to the 
westward. From the summit of that stupend- 
ous pile of rocks Paul caught sight of the vessel 
which was bearing away Virginia, and which 
now, ten leagues out at sea, appeared like a 
black spot in the midst of the ocean. He 
remained a great part of the day with his eyes 
fixed upon this object: when it disappeared, 
he still fancied he beheld it; and when, at 
length, the traces which clung to his imagina- 
tion were lost in the mists of the horizon, he 
seated himself on that wild point, forever 
beaten by the winds, which never cease to 
agitate the tops of the cabbage and gum-trees, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 133 

and the hoarse and moaning murmurs of 
which, similar to the distant sound of organs, 
inspire a profound melancholy. On this spot 
I found him, his head reclining on the rock, 
and his eyes fixed upon the ground. I had fol- 
lowed him from the earliest dawn, and, after 
much importunity, I prevailed on him to 
descend from the heights, and return to his 
family. I went home with him, where the 
first impulse of his mind, on seeing Madame de 
la Tour, was to reproach her bitterly for having 
deceived him. She told us that a favorable 
wind having sprung up at three o'clock in the 
morning, and the vessel being ready to sail, 
the Governor, attended by some of his staff and 
the missionary, had come with a palanquin to 
fetch her daughter ; and that, notwithstanding 
Virginia's objections, her own tears and 
entreaties, and the lamentations of Margaret, 
everybody exclaiming all the time that it was 
for the general welfare, they had carried her 
away almost dying. "At least," cried Paul, 
"if I had bid her farewell, I should now be 
more calm. I would have said to her, — 'Vir- 
ginia, if, during the time we have lived 
together, one word may have escaped me 
which has offended you, before you leave me 
forever, tell me that you forgive me. ' I would 



134 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

have said to her, — 'Since I am destined to see 
you no more, farewell, my dear Virginia, fare- 
well ! Live far from me contented and happy ! ' " 
When he saw that his mother and Madame de 
la Tour were weeping, — "You must now," said 
he, "seek some other hand to wipe away your 
tears;" and then, rushing out of the house, 
and groaning aloud, he wandered up and down 
the plantation. He hovered in particular 
about those spots' which had been most endear- 
ing to Virginia. He said to the goats, and 
their little ones, which followed him bleating, 
— "What do you want of me? You will see 
w r ith me no more her who used to feed you 
with her own hand." He went to the bower 
called Virginia's Resting-place and, as the 
birds flew around him, exclaimed, "Poor birds! 
you will fly no more to meet her who cherished 
you!" — and observing Fidele running back- 
wards and forwards in search of her, he heaved 
a deep sigh, and cried, — "Ah! you will never 
find her again. ' ' At length he went and seated 
himself upon a rock where he had conversed 
with her the preceding evening; and at the 
sight of the ocean upon which he had seen the 
vessel disappear which had borne her away, his 
heart overflowed with anguish, and he wept 
bitterly. 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 135 

We continually watched his movements, 
apprehensive of some fatal consequence from 
the violent agitation of his mind. His mother 
and Madame de la Tour conjured him, in the 
most tender manner, not to increase their 
affliction by his despair. At length the latter 
soothed his mind by lavishing upon him epithets 
calculated to awaken his hopes, — calling him 
her son, her dear son, her son-in-law, whom 
she destined for her daughter. She persuaded 
him to return home, and to take some food. 
He seated himself next to the place which used 
to be occupied by the companion of his child- 
hood; and, as if she had still been present, he 
spoke to her, and made as though he would 
offer her whatever he knew was most agreeable 
to her taste: then, starting from this dream 
of fancy, he began to weep. For some days 
he employed himself in gathering every thing 
which had belonged to Virginia, the last nose- 
gays she had worn, the cocoa-shell from which 
she used to drink ; and after kissing a thousand 
times these relics of his beloved, to him the 
most precious treasures which the world con- 
tained, he hid them in his bosom. Amber does 
not shed so sweet a perfume as the veriest trifles 
touched by those we love. At length, perceiv- 
ing that the indulgence of his grief increased 



136 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

that of his mother and Madame de la Tour, and 
that the wants of the family demanded contin- 
ual labor, he began, with the assistance of Do- 
mingo, to repair the damage done to the 
garden. 

But, soon after, this young man, hitherto 
indifferent as a Creole to everything that was 
passing in the world, begged of me to teach 
him to read and write, in order that he might 
correspond with Virginia. He afterwards 
wished to obtain a knowledge of geography, 
that he might form some idea of the country 
where she would disembark ; and of history, 
that he might know something of the manners 
of the society in which she would be placed. 
The powerful sentiment of love, which directed 
his present studies, had already instructed him 
in agriculture, and in the art of laying out 
grounds with advantage and beauty. It must 
be admitted, that to the fond dreams of this 
restless and ardent passion, mankind are 
indebted for most of the arts and sciences, 
while its disappointments have given birth to 
philosophy, which teaches us to bear up under 
misfortune. Love, thus, the general link of all 
beings, becomes the great spring of society, by 
inciting us to knowledge as well as to pleasure. 

Paul found little satisfaction in the studv of 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 137 

geography, which, instead of describing the 
natural history of each country, gave only a 
view of its political divisions and boundaries. 
History, and especially modern history, inter- 
ested him little more. He there saw only gen- 
eral and periodical evils, the causes of which 
he could not discover; wars without either 
motive or reason; uninteresting intrigues; 
with nations destitute of principle, and princes 
void of humanity. To this branch of reading 
he preferred romances, which, being chiefly 
occupied by the feelings and concerns of men, 
sometimes represented situations similar to his 
own. Thus, no book gave him so much pleas- 
ure as Telemachus, from the pictures it draws 
of pastoral life, and of the passions which are 
most natural to the human breast. He read 
aloud to his mother and Madame de la Tour 
those parts which affected him most sensibly ; 
but sometimes, touched by the most tender 
remembrances, his emotion would choke his 
utterance, and his eyes be filled with tears. 
He fancied he had found in Virginia the dig- 
nity and wisdom of Antiope, united to the 
misfortunes and the tenderness of Eucharis. 
With very different sensations he perused our 
fashionable novels, filled with licentious morals 
and maxims, and when he was informed that 



138 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

these works drew a tolerably faithful picture of 
European society, he trembled, and not without 
some appearance of reason, lest Virginia should 
become corrupted by it, and forget him. 

More than a year and a half, indeed, passed 
away before Madame de la Tour received any 
tidings of her aunt or her daughter. During 
that period she only accidentally heard that 
Virginia had safely arrived in France. At 
length, however, a vessel which stopped here 
on its way to the Indies brought a packet to 
Madame de la Tour, and a letter written by 
Virginia's own hand. Although this amiable 
and considerate girl had written in a guarded 
manner that she might not wound her mother's 
feelings, it appeared evident enough that she 
was unhappy. The letter painted so naturally 
her situation and her character, that I have re- 
tained it almost word for word. 

"My dear and beloved Mother, 

"I have already sent you several letters, 
written by my own hand, but having received 
no answer, I am afraid they have not reached 
you. I have better hopes for this, from the 
means I have now gained of sending you tid- 
ings of myself, and of hearing from you. 

"I have shed many tears since our separa- 
tion, I who never used to weep, but for the 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 139 

misfortunes of others! My aunt was much 
astonished, when, having, upon my arrival, in- 
quired what accomplishments I possessed, I 
told her that I could neither read nor write. 
She asked me what then I had learnt, since I 
came into the world; and when I answered 
that I had been taught to take care of the 
household affairs, and to obey your will, she 
told me that I had received the education of a 
servant. The next day she placed me as a 
boarder in a great abbey near Paris, where I 
have masters of all kinds, who teach me among 
other things, history, geography, grammar, 
mathematics, and riding on horseback. But I 
have so little capacity for all these sciences, 
that I fear I shall make but small progress 
with my masters. I feel that I am a very poor 
creature, with very little ability to learn what 
they teach. My aunt's kindness, however, does 
not decrease. She gives me new dresses every 
season; and she has placed two waiting women 
with me, who are dressed like fine ladies. She 
has made me take the title of countess; but has 
obliged me to renounce the name of La Tour, 
which is as dear to me as it is to you, from all 
you have told me of the sufferings my father 
endured in order to marry you. She has given 
me in place of your name that of your family, 



140 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

which is also dear to me, because it was your 
name when a girl. Seeing myself in so splen- 
did a situation, I implored her to let me send 
you something to assist you. But how shall I 
repeat her answer! Yet you have desired me 
always to tell you the truth. She told me then 
that a little would be of no use to you, and 
that a great deal would only encumber you in 
the simple life you led. As you know I could 
not write, I endeavored upon my arrival, to 
send you tidings of myself by another hand ; 
but, finding no person here in whom I could 
place confidence, I applied night and day to 
learn to read and write, and Heaven, who saw 
my motive for learning, no doubt assisted my 
endeavors, for I succeeded in both for a short 
time. I entrusted my first letters to some of 
the ladies here, who, I have reason to think, 
carried them to my aunt. This time I have 
recourse to a boarder, who is my friend. I 
send you her direction, by means of which 1 
shall receive your answer. My aunt has forbid 
me holding any correspondence whatever, with 
any one, lest, she says, it should occasion an 
obstacle to the great views she has for my ad- 
vantage. No person is allowed to see me at 
the grate but herself, and an old nobleman, 
one of her friends, who, she savs, is much 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 141 

pleased with me. I am sure I am not at all so 
with him, nor should I, even if it were possible 
for me to be pleased with any one at present. 
"I live in all the splendor of affluence, and 
have not a sou at my disposal. They say I 
might make an improper use of money. Even 
my clothes belong to my femmes de chambre, 
who quarrel about them before I have left them 
off. In the midst of riches I am poorer than 
when I lived with you ; for I have nothing to 
give away. When I found that the great ac- 
complishments they taught me would not pro- 
cure me the power of doing the smallest good, 
I had recourse to my needle, of which happily 
you had taught me the use. I send several 
pairs of stockings of my own making for you 
and my mamma Margaret, a cap for Domingo, 
and one of my red handkerchiefs for Mary. I 
also send with this packet some kernels, and 
seeds of various kinds of fruits which I gath- 
ered in the abbey park during my hours of rec- 
reation. I have also sent a few seeds of violets, 
daisies, buttercups, poppies and scabious, 
which I picked up in the fields. There are 
much more beautiful flowers in the meadows of 
this country than in ours, but nobody cares for 
them. I am sure that you and my mamma 
Margaret will be better pleased with this bag 



142 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

of seeds, than you were with the bag of pias- 
tres, which was the cause of our separation and 
of my tears. It will give me great delight if 
you should one day see apple-trees growing by 
the side of our plantains, and elms blending 
their foliage with that of our cocoa-trees. You 
will fancy yourself in Normandy, which you 
love so much. 

"You desired me to relate to you my joys 
and my griefs. I have no joys far from you. 
As for my griefs, I endeavor to soothe them 
by reflecting that I am in the situation in which 
it was the will of God that you should place 
me. But my greatest affliction is, that no one 
here speaks to me of you, and that I cannot 
speak of you to any one. My femmes de 
chambre, or rather those of my aunt, for they 
belong more to her than to me, told me the 
other day, when I wished to turn the conver- 
sation upon the objects most dear to me: 'Re- 
member, mademoiselle, that you are a French 
woman, and must forget that land of savages. ' 
Ah! sooner will I forget myself, than forget 
the spot on which I was born and where you 
dwell ! It is this country which is to me a land 
of savages, for I live alone, having no one to 
whom I can impart those feelings of tenderness 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 143 

for you which I shall bear with me to the grave. 
I am, 

"My dearest and beloved mother, 
"Your affectionate and dutiful daughter, 

"Virginie de la Tour. " 

"I recommend to your goodness Mary and 
Domingo, who took so much care of my in- 
fancy ; caress Fidele for me, who found me in 
the wood." 

Paul was astonished that Virginia had not 
said one word of him, — she, who had not for- 
gotten even the house-dog. But he was not 
aware that, however long a woman's letter 
may be, she never fails to leave her dearest 
sentiments for the end. 

In a postscript, Virginia particularly recom- 
mended to Paul's attention two kinds of seed, 
— those of the violet and the scabious. She 
gave him some instructions upon the natural 
characters of these flowers, and the spots most 
proper for their cultivation. "The violet," she 
said, "produces a little flower of a dark purple 
color, which delights to conceal itself beneath 
the bushes ; but it is soon discovered by its 
wide-spreading perfume." She desired that 
these seeds might be sown by the border of 
the fountain, at the foot of her cocoa- tree. 
"The scabious/' she added, "produces a beau- 



144 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

tiful flower of a pale blue, and a black groun 
spotted with white. You might fancy it was 
in mourning; and for this reason it is also 
called the widow's flower. It grows best in 
bleak spots, beaten by the winds." She beg- 
ged him to sow this upon the rock where she 
had spoken to him at night for the last time, 
and that, in remembrance of her, he would 
henceforth give it the name of the Rock of 
Adieus. 

She had put these seeds into a little purse, 
the tissue of which was exceedingly simple; 
but which appeared above all price to Paul, 
when he saw on it a P and a V entwined to- 
gether, and knew that the beautiful hair which 
formed the cypher was the hair of Virginia. 

The whole family listened with tears to the 
reading of the letter of this amiable and virtu- 
ous girl. Her mother answered it in the name 
of the little society, desiring her to remain or 
return as she thought proper: and assuring 
her, that happiness had left their dwelling since 
her departure, and that, for herself, she was 
inconsolable. 

Paul also sent her a very long letter, in which 
he assured her that he would arrange the garden 
in a manner agreeable to her taste, and mingle 
together in it the plants of Europe with those 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 145 

of Africa, as she had blended their initials to- 
gether in her work. He sent her some fruit 
from the cocoa-trees of the fountain, now ar- 
rived at maturity ; telling her, that he would 
not add any of the other productions of the 
island, that the desire of seeing them again 
might hasten her return. He conjured her to 
comply as soon as possible with the ardent 
wishes of her family, and, above all, with his 
own, since he could never hereafter taste hap- 
piness away from her. 

Paul sowed with a careful hand the Euro- 
pean seeds, particularly the violet and the sca- 
bious, the flowers of which seemed to bear 
some analogy to the character and present sit- 
uation of Virginia, by whom they had been so 
especially recommended ; but either they were 
dried up in the voyage, or the climate of this 
part of the world is unfavorable to their 
growth, for a very small number of them even 
came up, and not one arrived at full perfection. 

In the meantime, envy, which ever comes to 
embitter human happiness, particularly in the 
French colonies, spread some reports in the 
island which gave Paul much uneasiness. The 
passengers in the vessel which brought Vir- 
ginia's letter, asserted that she was upon the 
point of being married, and named the noble- 

10 Paul and Virginia 



146 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

man of the court to whom she was engaged. 
Some even went so far as to declare that the 
union had already taken place, and that they 
themselves had witnessed the ceremony. Paul 
at first despised the report, brought by a mer- 
chant vessel, as he knew that they often spread 
erroneous intelligence in their passage; but 
some of the inhabitants of the island, with 
malignant pity, affecting to bewail the event, 
he was soon led to attach some degree of belief 
to this cruel intelligence. Besides, in some of 
the novels he had lately read, he had seen that 
perfidy was treated as a subject of pleasantry; 
and knowing that these books contained pretty 
faithful representations of European manners, 
he feared that the heart of Virginia was cor- 
rupted, and had forgotten its former engage- 
ments. Thus his new acquirements had already 
only served to render him more miserable ; and 
his apprehensions were much increased by the 
circumstance, that though several ships touched 
here from Europe, within the six months im- 
mediately following the arrival of her letter, 
not one of them brought any tidings of Vir- 
ginia. 

This unfortunate young man, with a heart 
torn by the most cruel agitation, often came to 
visit me, in the hope of confirming or banishing 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 147 

his uneasiness, by my experience of the 
world. 

I live, as I have already told you, a league 
and a half from this point, upon the banks of 
a little river which glides along the Sloping 
Mountain : there I lead a solitary life, without 
wife, children, or slaves. 

After having enjoyed, and lost the rare 
felicity of living with a congenial mind, the 
state of life which appears the least wretched 
is doubtless that of solitude. Every man who 
has much cause of complaint against his fellow- 
creatures seeks to be alone. It is also remarkable 
that all those nations which have been brought 
to wretchedness by their opinions, their man- 
ners, or their forms of government, have pro- 
duced numerous classes of citizens altogether 
devoted to solitude and celibacy. Such were 
the Egyptians in their decline, and the Greeks 
of the Lower Empire ; and such in our days 
are the Indians, the Chinese, the modern 
Greeks, the Italians, and the greater part of 
the eastern and southern nations of Europe. 
Solitude, by removing men from the miseries 
which follow in the train of social intercourse, 
brings them in some degree back to the unso- 
phisticated enjoyment of nature. In the midst 
of modern society, broken up by innumerable 



148 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

prejudices, the mind is in a constant turmoil of 
agitation. It is incessantly revolving in itself 
a thousand tumultuous and contradictory opin- 
ions, by which the members of an ambitious 
and miserable circle seek to raise themselves 
above each other. But in solitude the soul lays 
aside the morbid illusions which troubled her, 
and resumes the pure consciousness of herself, 
of nature, and of its Author, as the muddy 
water of a torrent which has ravaged the 
plains, coming to rest, and diffusing itself over 
some low grounds out of its course, deposits 
there the slime it has taken up, and resuming 
its wonted transparency, reflects, with its own 
shores, the verdure of the earth and the light 
of heaven. Thus does solitude recruit the 
powers of the body as well as those of the mind. 
It is among hermits that are found the men 
who carry human existence to its extreme 
limits; such are the Bramins of India. In 
brief, I consider solitude so necessary to happi- 
ness, even in the world itself, that it appears 
to me impossible to derive lasting pleasure 
from any pursuit whatever, or to regulate our 
conduct by any stable principle, if we do not 
create for ourselves a mental void, whence our 
own views rarely emerge, and into which the 
opinions of others never enter. I do not mean 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 149 

to say that man ought to live absolutely alone ; 
he is connected by his necessities with all man- 
kind ; his labors are due to man : and he owes 
something too to the rest of nature. But, as God 
has given to each of us organs perfectly adapted 
to the elements of the globe on which we 
live, — feet for the soil, lungs for the air, eyes 
for the light, without power of changing the 
use of any of these faculties, he has reserved 
for himself, as the Author of life, that which 
is its chief organ, — the heart. 

I thus passed my days far from mankind, 
whom I wished to serve, and by whom I have 
been persecuted. After having traveled over 
many countries of Europe, and some parts of 
America and Africa, I at length pitched my 
tent in this thinly peopled island, allured by its 
mild climate and its solitudes. A cottage 
which I built in the woods, at the foot of a 
tree, a little field which I cleared with my own 
hands, a river which glides before my door, 
suffice for my wants and for my pleasures. I 
blend with these enjoyments the perusal of 
some chosen books, which teach me to become 
better. They make that world, which I have 
abandoned, still contribute something to my 
" appiness. They lay before me pictures of 
hose passions which render its inhabitants so 



150 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

miserable ; and in the comparison I am thus led 
to make between their lot and my own, I feel a 
kind of negative enjoyment. Like a man saved 
from a shipwreck, and thrown upon a rock, I 
contemplate, from my solitude, the storms 
which rage through the rest of the world ; and 
my repose seems more profound from the dis- 
tant sound of the tempest. As men have 
ceased to fall in my way; I no longer view 
them with aversion; I only pity them. If 
I sometimes fall in with an unfortunate 
being, I try to help him by my counsels, as a 
passer-by on the brink of a torrent extends his 
hand to save a wretch from drowning. But I 
have hardly ever found but the innocent 
attentive to my voice. Nature calls the major- 
ity of men to her in vain. Each of them forms 
an image of her for himself, and invests her 
with his own passions. He pursues during 
the whole of his life this vain phantom, which 
leads him astray; and he afterwards complains 
to Heaven of the misfortunes which he has 
thus created for himself. Among the many 
children of misfortune whom I have endeav- 
ored to lead back to the enjoyments of nature, 
I have not found one but was intoxicated with 
his own miseries. They have listened to me at "g" 
first with attention, in the hope that I could n 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 151 

teach them how to acquire glory or fortune, 
but when they found that I only wished to 
instruct them how to dispense with these chi- 
meras, their attention has been converted into 
pity, because I did not prize their miserable 
happiness. They blamed my solitary life ; they 
alleged that they alone w r ere useful to men, and 
they endeavored to draw me into their vortex. 
But if I communicate with all, I lay myself 
open to none. It is often sufficient for me to 
serve as a lesson to myself. In my present 
tranquility, I pass in review the agitating pur- 
suits of my past life, to which I formerly 
attached so much value, — patronage, fortune, 
reputation, pleasure, and the opinions which 
are ever at strife over all the earth. I com- 
pare the men whom I have seen disputing furi- 
ously over these vanities, and who are no more, 
to the tiny waves of my rivulet, which break 
in foam against its rocky bed, and disappear, 
never to return. As for me, I suffer myself to 
float calmly down the stream of time to the 
shoreless ocean of futurity; while, in the con- 
templation of the present harmony of nature, 
I elevate my soul towards its supreme Author, 
and hope for a more happy lot in another state 
of existence. 

Although you cannot descry from my her- 



152 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

mitage, situated in the midst of a forest, that 
immense variety of objects which this elevated 
spot presents, the grounds are disposed with 
peculiar beauty, at least to one who, like me, 
prefers the seclusion of a home scene to great 
and extensive prospects. The river which 
glides before my door passes in a straight line 
across the woods, looking like a long canal 
shaded by all kinds of trees. Among them are 
the gum tree, the ebony tree, and that which 
is here called bois de pomme, with olive and 
cinnamon-wood trees ; while in some parts the 
cabbage-palm trees raise their naked stems 
more than a hundred feet high, their summits 
crowned with a cluster of leaves, and towering 
above the woods like one forest piled upon 
another. Lianas, of various foliage, intertwin- 
ing themselves among the trees, form, here, 
arcades of foliage, there, long canopies of 
verdure. Most of these trees shed aromatic 
odors so powerful, that the garments of a 
traveler, who has passed through the forest, 
often retain for hours the most delicious 
fragrance. In the season when they produce 
their lavish blossoms, they appear as if half- 
covered with snow. Towards the end of sum- 
mer, various kinds of foreign birds hasten, 
impelled by some inexplicable instinct, from 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 153 

unknown regions on the other side of immense 
oceans, to feed upon the grain and other veg- 
etable productions of the island ; and the bril- 
liancy of their plumage forms a striking con- 
trast to the more somber tints of the foliage, 
embrowned by the sun. Among these are var- 
ious kinds of paroquets, and the blue pigeon, 
called here the pigeon of Holland. Monkeys, 
the domestic inhabitants of our forests, sport 
upon the dark branches of the trees, from 
which they are easily distinguished by their 
gray and greenish skin, and their black visages. 
Some hang, suspended by the tail, and swing 
themselves in air; others leap from branch to 
branch, bearing their young in their arms. 
The murderous gun has never affrighted these 
peaceful children of nature. You hear noth- 
ing but sounds of joy, — the warblings and 
unknown notes of birds from the countries of 
the south, repeated from a distance by the 
echoes of the forest. The river, which pours, 
in foaming eddies, over a bed of rocks, through 
the midst of the woods, reflects here and there 
upon its limpid waters their venerable masses 
of verdure and of shade, along with the sports 
of their happy inhabitants. About a thousand 
paces from thence it forms several cascades, 
clear as crystal in their fall, but broken at the 



154 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

bottom into frothy surges. Innumerable con- 
fused sounds issue from these watery tumults, 
which, borne by the winds across the forest, 
now sink in distance, now all at once swell out, 
booming on the ear like the bells of a cathe- 
dral. The air, kept ever in motion by the run- 
ning water, preserves upon the banks of the 
river, amid all the summer heats, a freshness 
and verdure rarely found in this island, even 
on the summits of the mountains. 

At some distance from this place is a rock, 
placed far enough from the cascade to prevent 
the ear from being deafened with the noise of 
its waters, and sufficiently near for the enjoy- 
ment of seeing it, of feeling its coolness, and 
hearing its gentle murmurs. Thither, amidst 
the heats of summer, Madame de la Tour, 
Margaret, Virginia, Paul and myself, some- 
times repaired, to dine beneath the shadow of 
this rock. Virginia, who always, in her most 
ordinary actions, was mindful of the good of 
others, never ate of any fruit in the fields with- 
out planting the seed or kernel in the ground. 
4 * From this," said she, " trees will come, which 
will yield their fruit to some traveler, or at 
least to some bird. ' ' One day, having eaten of 
the papaw fruit at the foot of that rock, she 
planted the seeds on the spot. Soon after, sev- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 155 

eral papaw trees sprang up, among which was 
one with female blossoms, that is to say, a 
fruit-bearing tree. This tree at the time of 
Virginia's departure, was scarcely as high as 
her knee ; but, as it is a plant of rapid growth 
in the course of two years it had gained the 
height of twenty feet, and the upper part of 
its stem was encircled by several rows of ripe 
fruit. Paul, wandering accidentally to the 
spot, was struck with delight at seeing this 
lofty tree, which had been planted by his 
beloved; but the emotion was transient, and 
instantly gave place to a deep melancholy, at 
this evidence of her long absence. The objects 
which are habitually before us do not bring to 
our minds an adequate idea of the rapidity of 
life; they decline insensibly with ourselves: 
but it is those we behold again, after having 
for some years lost sight of them, that most 
powerfully impress us with a feeling of the 
swiftness with which the tide of life flows on. 
Paul was no less overwhelmed and affected at 
the sight of this great papaw tree, loaded with 
fruit, than is the traveler when, after a long 
absence from his own country, he finds his con- 
temporaries no more, but their children, whom 
he left at the breast, themselves now become 
fathers of families. Paul sometimes thought 



156 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

of cutting down the tree, which recalled to 
sensibility the distracting remembrance of Vir^ 
ginia's prolonged absence. At other times, 
contemplating it as a monument of her benev- 
olence, he kissed its trunk, and apostrophized 
it in terms of the most passionate regret. 
Indeed, I have myself gazed upon it with more 
emotion and more veneration than upon the 
triumphal arches of Rome. May nature, 
which every day destroys the monuments of 
kingly ambition, multiply in our forests those 
which testify the beneficence of a poor young 
girl! 

At the foot of this papaw tree I was always 
sure to meet with Paul when he came into our 
neighborhood. One day, I found him there 
absorbed in melancholy, and a conversation 
took place between us, which I will relate to 
you, if I do not weary you too much by my 
long digressions ; they are perhaps pardonable 
to my age and to my last friendships. I will 
relate it to you in the form of a dialogue, that 
you may form some idea of the natural good 
sense of this young man. You will easily dis- 
tinguish the speaker, from the character of his 
questions and of my answers. 

Paul. — I am very unhappy. Mademoiselle 
de la Tour has now been gone two years and 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 157 

eight months, arid we have heard no tidings 
of her for eight months and a half. She is rich, 
and I am poor; she has forgotten me. I have 
a great mind to follow her. I will go to France ; 
I will serve the king; I will make my fortune; 
and, then, Mademoiselle de la Tour's aunt will 
bestow her niece upon me when I shall have 
become a great lord. 

The Old Man. — But, my dear friend, have 
not you told me that you are not of noble 
birth? 

Paul. — My mother has told me so; but, as 
for myself, I know not what noble birth means. 
I never perceived that I had less than others, 
or that others had more than I. 

The Old Man. — Obscure birth, in France, 
shuts every door of access to great employ- 
ments; nor can you even be received among 
any distinguished body of men, if you labor 
under this disadvantage. 

Paul. — You have often told me that it was 
one source of the greatness of France that her 
humblest subject might attain the highest 
honors; and you have cited to me many in- 
stances of celebrated men who, born in a mean 
condition, had conferred honor upon their 
country. It was your wish, then, by conceal- 
ing the truth, to stimulate my ardor? 



158 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

The Old Man. — Never, my son, would I 
lower it. I told you the truth with regard to 
the past; but now, everything has undergone 
a great change. Everything in France is now 
to be obtained by interest alone ; every place 
and employment is now become as it were the 
patrimony of a small number of families, or is 
divided among public bodies. The king is a 
sun, and the nobles and great corporate bodies 
surround him like so many clouds ; it is almost 
impossible for any of his rays to reach you. 
Formerly, under less exclusive administrations 
such phenomena have been seen. Then, talents 
and merit showed themselves everywhere, as 
newly cleared lands are always loaded with 
abundance. But great kings, who can really 
form a just estimate of men, and choose them 
with judgment, are rare. The ordinary race of 
monarchs allow themselves to be guided by the 
nobles and people who surround them. 

Paul. — But perhaps I shall find one of these 
nobles to protect me, 

The Old Man. — To gain the protection of the 
great you must lend yourself to their ambition, 
and administer to their pleasures. You would 
never succeed ; for, in addition to your obscura 
birth, you have too much integrity. 

Paul. — But I will perform such courageous 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 159 

actions, I will be so faithful to my word, so ex- 
act in the performance of my duties, so zealous 
and so constant in my friendships, that I will 
render myself worthy to be adopted by some 
one of them. In the ancient histories, you 
have made me read, I have seen many exam- 
ples of such adoptions. 

The Old Man. — Oh, my young friend ! 
among the Greeks and Romans, even in their 
decline, the nobles had some respect for vir- 
tue; but out of all the immense number of 
men, sprung from the mass of the people, in 
France, who have signalized themselves in 
every possible manner, I do not recollect a sin- 
gle instance of one being adopted by any great 
family. If it were not for our kings, virtue, 
in our country would be eternally condemned 
as plebeian. As I said before, the monarch 
sometimes, when he perceives it, renders to it 
due honor ; but in the present day, the distinc- 
tions which should be bestowed on merit are 
generally to be obtained by money alone. 

Paul. — If I cannot find a nobleman to adopt 
me, I will seek to please some public body. I 
will espouse its interests and its opinions : I will 
make myself beloved by it. 

The Old Man. —You will act then like other 



160 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

men? — you will renounce your conscience to 
obtain a fortune? 

Paul. — Oh, no! I will never lend myself to 
anything but the truth. 

The Old Man. — Instead of making yourself 
beloved, you would become an object of dislike. 
Besides, public bodies have never taken much 
interest in the discovery of truth. All opin- 
ions are nearly alike to ambitious men, pro- 
vided only that they themselves can gain their 
ends. 

Paul. — How unfortunate I am! Everything 
bars my progress. I am condemned to pass 
my life in ignoble toil, far from Virginia. 

As he said this he sighed deeply. 

The Old Man. — Let God be your patron, and 
mankind the public body you would serve. 
Be constantly attached to them both. Fam- 
ilies, corporations, nations and kings have, all 
of them, their prejudices and their passions; it 
is often necessary to serve them by the practice 
of vice : God and mankind at large require only 
the exercise of the virtues. 

But why do you wish to be distinguished from 
other men? It is hardly a natural sentiment, 
for if all men possessed it, every one would be 
at constant strife with his neighbor. Be satis- 
fied with fulfilling your duty in the station in 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 161 

which Providence has placed you ; be grateful 
for your lot, which permits you to enjoy the 
blessing of a quiet conscience, and which does 
not compel you, like the great, to let your hap- 
piness rest on the opinion of the little, or, like 
the little, to cringe to the great, in order to 
obtain the means of existence. You are now 
placed in a country and a condition in which 
you are not reduced to deceive or flatter any- 
one, or debase yourself, as the greater part of 
those who seek their fortune in Europe are 
obliged to do ; in which the exercise of no vir- 
tue is forbidden you ; in which you may be, 
with impunity, good, sincere, well-informed, 
patient, temperate, chaste, indulgent to others* 
faults, pious, and no shaft of ridicule be aimed 
at you to destroy your wisdom, as yet only in 
its bud. Heaven has given you liberty, health, 
a good conscience, and friends; kings them- 
selves, whose favor you desire, are not so happy. 
Paul. — Ah! I only want to have Virginia 
with me: without her I have nothing, — with 
her, I should possess all my desire. She alone 
is to me birth, glory, and fortune. But, since 
her relation will only give her to some one with 
a great name, I will study. By the aid of 
study and of books, learning and celebrity are 
to be attained. I will become a man of science : 

11 Paul and Virginia 



162 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

I will render my knowledge useful to the ser- 
vice of my country, without injuring any one, 
or owning dependence on any one. I will be- 
come celebrated, and my glory shall be achieved 
only by myself. 

The Old Man. — My son, talents are a gift yet 
more rare than either birth or riches, and un- 
doubtedly they are a greater good than either, 
since they can never be taken away from us, 
and that they obtain for us everywhere public 
esteem. But they may be said to be worth all 
that they cost us. They are seldom acquired 
but by every species of privation, by the pos- 
session of exquisite sensibility, which often 
produces inward unhappiness, and which ex- 
poses us without to the malice and persecutions 
of our contemporaries. The lawyer envies 
not, in France, the glory of the soldier, nor 
does the soldier envy that of the naval officer ; 
but they will all oppose you, and bar your 
progress to distinction, because your assump- 
tion of superior ability will wound the self-love 
of them all. You say that you will do good to 
men; but recollect, that he who makes the 
earth produce a single ear of corn more, ren- 
ders them a greater service than he who writes 
a book. 

Paul. — Oh! she, then, who planted this pa- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 163 

paw tree, has made a more useful and more 
grateful present to the inhabitants of these 
forests than if she had given them a whole 
library. 

So saying, he threw his arms around the tree, 
and kissed it with transport. 

The Old Man.— The best of books,— that 
which preaches nothing but equality, brotherly 
love, charity, and peace, — the Gospel, has 
served as a pretext, during many centuries, 
for Europeans to let loose all their fury. How 
many tyrannies, both public and private, are 
still practised in its name on the face of the 
earth! After this, who will dare to flatter him- 
self that anything he can write will be of ser- 
vice to his fellow-men? Remember the fate of 
most of the philosophers who have preached to 
them wisdom. Homer, who clothed it in such 
noble verse, asked for alms all his life. Soc- 
rates, whose conversation and example gave 
such admirable lessons to the Athenians, was 
sentenced by them to be poisoned. His sub- 
lime disciple, Plato, was delivered over to slav- 
ery by the order of the very prince who pro- 
tected him; and, before them, Pythagoras, 
whose humanity extended even to animals, was 
burned alive by the Crotoniates. What do I 
say? — many even of these illustrious names 



164 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

have descended to us disfigured by some traits 
of satire by which they became characterized, 
human ingratitude taking pleasure in thus rec- 
ognizing them ; and if, in the crowd, the glory 
of some names is come down to us without spot 
or blemish, we shall find that they who have 
borne them have lived far from the society of 
their contemporaries ; like those statues which 
are found entire beneath the soil in Greece and 
Italy, and which, by being hidden in the 
bosom of the earth, have escaped uninjured, 
from the fury of the barbarians. 

You see, then, that to acquire the glory 
which a turbulent literary career can give you, 
you must not only be virtuous, but ready, if 
necessary, to sacrifice life itself. But, after 
all, do not fancy that the great in France 
trouble themselves about such glory as this. 
Little do they care for literary men, whose 
knowledge brings them neither honors, nor 
power, nor even admission at court. Persecu- 
tion, it is true, is rarely practised in this age, 
because it is habitually indifferent to every- 
thing except wealth and luxury ; but knowledge 
and virtue no longer lead to distinction, since 
everything in the state is to be purchased with 
money. Formerly, men of letters were certain 
of reward by some place in the church, the 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA 165 

magistracy, or the administration; now they 
are considered good for nothing but to write 
books. But this fruit of their minds, little 
valued by the world at large, is still worthy of 
its celestial origin. For these books is reserved 
the privilege of shedding luster on obscure 
virtue, of consoling the unhappy, of enlighten- 
ing nations, and of telling the truth even to 
kings. This is, unquestionably, the most 
august commission with which Heaven can 
honor a mortal upon this earth. Where is the 
author who would not be consoled for the in- 
justice or contempt of those who are the dis- 
pensers of the ordinary gifts of fortune, when 
he reflects that his work may pass from age to 
age, from nation to nation, opposing a barrier 
to error and to tyranny ; and that, from amidst 
the obscurity in which he has lived, there will 
shine forth a glory which will efface that of the 
common herd of monarchs, the monuments of 
whose deeds perish in oblivion, notwithstand- 
ing the flatterers who erect and magnify them? 
Paul. — Ah! I am only covetous of glory to 
bestow it on Virginia, and render her dear to 
the whole world. But can you, who know so 
much, tell me whether we shall ever be mar- 
ried? I should like to be a very learned man, 



166 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

if only for the sake of knowing what will come 
to pass. 

The Old Man. — Who would live, my son, if 
the future were revealed to him? — when a 
single anticipated misfortune gives us so much 
useless uneasiness — when the foreknowledge 
of one certain calamity is enough to embitter 
every day that precedes it! It is better not to 
pry too curiously, even into the things which 
surround us. Heaven, which has given us the 
power of reflection to foresee our necessities, 
gave us also those very necessities to set limits 
to its exercise. 

Paul. — You tell me that with money people 
in Europe acquire dignities and honors. I will 
go, then, to enrich myself in Bengal, and after- 
wards proceed to Paris, and marry Virginia. 
I will embark at once. 

The Old Man. — What! would you leave her 
mother and yours? 

Paul. — Why, you yourself have advised my 
going to the Indies. 

The Old Man. — Virginia was then here ; but 
you are now the only means of support both 
of her mother and of your own. 

Paul. — Virginia will assist them by means of I 
her rich relation. 

The Old Man. — The rich care little for those 



i 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 167 

from whom no honor is reflected upon them- 
selves in the world. Many of them have rela- 
tions much more to be pitied than Madame de 
la Tour, who, for want of their assistance, sac- 
rifice their liberty for bread, and pass their 
lives immured within the walls of a convent. 

Paul. — Oh, what a country is Europe! Vir- 
ginia must come back here. What need has 
she of a rich relation? She was so happy in 
these huts; she looked so beautiful and so well- 
dressed with a red handkerchief or a few flow- 
ers around her head! Return, Virginia! leave 
your sumptuous mansions and your grandeur, 
and come back to these rocks, — to the shade of 
these woods and of our cocoa trees. Alas ! you 
are perhaps even now unhappy! — and he began 
to shed tears. My father, — continued he, — 
hide nothing from me ; if you cannot tell me 
whether I shall marry Virginia, tell me at 
least if she loves me still, surrounded as she is 
by noblemen who speak to the king, and who 
go to see her. 

The Old Man. — Oh, my dear friend! I am 
sure, for many reasons that she loves you ; but 
above all, because she is virtuous. At these 
words he threw himself on my neck in a trans- 
port of joy. 

Paul. — But do you think that the women of 



168 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

Europe are false, as they are represented in 
the comedies and books which you have lent 
me? 

The Old Man. — TVomen are false in those 
countries where men are tyrants. Violence 
always engenders a disposition to deceive. 

Paul. — In what way can men tyranize over 
women? 

The Old Man. — In giving them in marriage 
without consulting their inclinations; — in unit- 
ing a young girl to an old man or a woman of 
sensibility to a frigid and indifferent husband. 

Paul. — Why not join together those who are 
suited to each other, — the young to the young 
and lovers to those they love? 

The Old Man. — Because few young men in 
France have property enough to support them 
when they are married, and cannot acquire it 
till the greater part of their life is passed. 
While young, they seduce the wives of others, 
and when they are old, they cannot secure the 
affections of their own. At first, they them- 
selves are deceivers: and afterwards, they are 
deceived in their turn. This is one of the re- 
actions of that eternal justice, by which the 
world is governed; an excess on one side is 
sure to be balanced by one on the other. Thus, 
the greater part of Europeans pass their lives 



PaUi. AND VIRGINIA. 169 

in this two-fold irregularity, which increases 
everywhere in the same proportion that wealth 
is accumulated in the hands of a few individu- 
als. Society is like a garden, where shrubs 
cannot grow if they are overshadowed by lofty 
trees ; but there is this wide difference between 
them, — that the beauty of a garden may re- 
sult from the admixture of a small number of 
forest trees, while the prosperity of a state de- 
pends on the multitude and equality of its 
citizens, and not on the small number of very 
rich men. 

Paul. — But where is the necessity of being 
rich in order to marry? 

The Old Man. — In order to pass through life 
in abundance, without being obliged to work. 

Paul. — But why not work? I am sure I work 
hard enough. 

The Old Man. — In Europe, working with 
your hands is considered a degradation ; it is 
compared to the labor performed by a machine. 
The occupation of cultivating the earth is the 
most despised of all. Even an artisan is held 
in more estimation than a peasant. 

Paul. — What! do you mean to say that the 
art which furnishes food for mankind is de- 
spised in Europe? I hardly understand you. 

The Old Man. — Oh! it is impossible for a 



170 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

person educated according to nature to form an 
idea of the depraved state of society. It is 
easy to form a precise notion of order, but not 
of disorder. Beauty, virtue, happiness, have 
all their defined proportions ; deformity, vice, 
and misery have none. 

Paul. — The rich then are always very happy! 
They meet with no obstacles to the fulfillment 
of their wishes, and they can lavish happiness 
on those whom they love. 

The Old Man. — Far from it, my son! They 
are, for the most part satiated with pleasure, 
for this very reason, — that it costs them no 
trouble. Have you never yourself experienced 
how much the pleasure of repose is increased 
by fatigue; that of eating, by hunger; that of 
drinking, by thirst? The pleasure also of lov- 
ing and being loved is only to be acquired by 
innumerable privations and sacrifices. Wealth, 
by anticipating all their necessities, deprives 
its possessors of all these pleasures. To this 
ennui, consequent upon satiety, may also be 
added the pride which springs from their opu- 
lence, and which is wounded by the most trifling 
privation, when the greatest enjoyments have 
ceased to charm. The perfume of a thousand 
roses gives pleasure but for a moment ; but the 
pain occasioned by a single thorn endures long 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 171 

after the infliction of the wound. A single evil 
in the midst of their pleasures is to the rich man 
like a thorn among flowers ; to the poor, on the 
contrary, one pleasure amidst all their troubles 
is a flower among a wilderness of thorns ; they 
have a most lively enjoyment of it. The effect 
of everything is increased by contrast ; nature 
has balanced all things. Which condition, 
after all, do you consider preferable, — to have 
scarcely anything to hope, and everything to 
fear, or to have everything to hope and nothing 
to fear? The former condition is that of the 
rich, the latter, that of the poor. But either 
of these extremities is with difficulty supported 
by man, whose happiness consists in a middle 
station of life, in union with virtue. 

Paul. — What do you understand by virtue? 

The Old Man. — To you, my son, who sup- 
port your family by your labor, it need hardly 
be defined. Virtue consists in endeavoring to 
do all the good we can to others, with an ulti- 
mate intention of pleasing God alone. 

Paul. — Oh! how virtuous, then, is Virginia! 
Virtue led her to seek for riches, that she might 
practice benevolence. Virtue induced her to 
quit this island, and virtue will bring her back 
to it. 

The idea of her speedy return firing the ima- 



172 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

gination of this young man, all his anxieties 
suddenly vanished. Virginia, he was persuaded, 
had not written, because she would soon arrive. 
It took so little time to come from Europe with 
a fair wind ! Then he enumerated the vessels 
which had made this passage of four thousand 
five hundred leagues in less than three months; 
and perhaps the vessel in which Virginia had 
embarked might not be more than two. Ship- 
builders were now so ingenious, and sailors 
were so expert ! He then talked to me of the 
arrangements he intended to make for her 
reception, of the new house he would build for 
her, and of the pleasures and surprises which 
he would contrive for her every day, when she 
was his wife. His wife ! The idea filled him 
with ecstasy. "At least, my dear father," 
said he, "you shall then do no more work than 
you please. As Virginia will be rich, we shall 
have plenty of negroes, and they shall -work 
for you. You shall always live with us, and 
have no other care than to amuse yourself and 
be happy;" — and, his heart throbbing with 
joy, he flew to communicate these exquisite 
anticipations to his family. 

In a short time, however, these enchanting 
hopes were succeeded by the most cruel appre- 
hensions. It is always the effect of violent 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 173 

passions to throw the soul into opposite ex- 
tremes. Paul returned the next day to my 
dwelling, overwhelmed with melancholy, and 
said to me, — "I hear nothing from Virginia. 
Had she left Europe she would have written 
me word of her departure. Ah ! the reports 
which I have heard concerning her are but too 
well founded. Her aunt has married her to 
some great lord. She, like others, has been 
undone by the love of riches. In those books 
which paint women so well, virtue is treated 
but as a subject of romance. If Virginia had 
been virtuous, she would never have forsaken 
her mother and me. I do nothing but think of 
her, and she has forgotten me. I am wretched 
and she is diverting herself. The thought dis- 
tracts me; I cannot bear myself! Would to 
Heaven that war were declared in India! I 
would go there and die. ' ' 

44 My son," I answered, "that courage which 
prompts us on to court death is but the cour- 
age of a moment, and is often excited only by 
the vain applause of men, or by the hope of 
posthumous renown. There is another descrip- 
tion of courage rarer and more necessary, 
which enables us to support, without witness 
and without applause, the vexations of life; 
this virtue is patience. Relying for support, 



174 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 



not upon the opinions of others, or the impulse 
of the passions, but upon the will of God, 
patience is the courage of virtue. ' ' 

"Ah!" cried he, "I am then without virtue ! 
Everything overwhelms me and drives me to 
despair. ' ' — ' * Equal, constant, and invariable 
virtue, M I replied, "belongs not toman. In 
the midst of the many passions which agitate 
us, our reason is disordered and obscure : but 
there is an ever-burning lamp, at which we 
can rekindle its flame ; and that is, literature. 

"Literature, my dear son, is the gift of Heav- 
en, a ray of that wisdom by which the uni- 
verse is governed, and which man, inspired by 
a celestial intelligence, has drawn down to 
earth. Like the rays of the sun, it enlightens 
us, it rejoices us, it warms us with a heavenly 
flame, and seems, in some sort, like the element 
of fire, to bend all nature to our use. By its 
means we are enabled to bring around us all 
things, all places, all men, and all times. It 
assists us to regulate our manners and our life. 
By its aid, too, our passions are calmed, vice is 
suppressed, and virtue encouraged by the mem- 
orable examples of great and good men which 
it has handed down to us, and whose time-hon- 
ored images it ever brings before our eyes. 
Literature is a daughter of Heaven who has 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 175 

descended upon earth to soften and to charm 
away all the evils of the human race. The 
greatest writers have ever appeared in the 
worst times,— in times in which society can 
hardly be held together, — the times of barba- 
rism and every species of depravity. My son, 
literature has consoled an infinite number of 
men more unhappy than yourself : Xenophon, 
banished from his country after having saved 
to her ten thousand of her sons; Scipio Afri- 
canus, wearied to death by the calumnies of the 
Romans ; Lucullus, tormented by their cabals ; 
and Catinat, by the ingratitude of a court. 
The Greeks, with their never-failing ingenuity, 
assigned to each of the Muses a portion of the 
great circle of human intelligence for her espe- 
cial superintendence; we ought in the same 
manner, to give up to them the regulation of 
our passions, to bring them under proper re- 
straint. Literature in this imaginative guise, 
would thus fulfill, in relation to the powers of 
the soul, the same functions as the Hours, who 
yoked and conducted the chariot of the Sun. 

44 Have recourse to your books, then, my son. 
The wise men who have written before our 
days are travelers who have preceded us in the 
paths of misfortune, and who stretch out a 
friendly hand towards us, and invite us to join 



176 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 



their society, when we are abandoned by 
everything else. A good book is a good 
friend." 

"Ah!" cried Paul, "I stood in no need of 
books when Virginia was here, and she had 
studied as little as myself; but when she looked 
at me, and called me her friend, I could not 
feel unhappy. ' ' 

"Undoubtedly," said I, "there is no friend 
so agreeable as a mistress by whom we are be- 
loved. There is, moreover, in woman a liveli- 
ness and gayety, which powerfully tend to dis- 
sipate the melancholy feelings of a man ; her 
presence drives away the dark phantoms of 
imagination produced by over-reflection. Upon 
her countenance sit soft attractions and tender 
confidence. What joy is not heightened when 
it is shared by her? What brow is not unbent 
by her smiles? What anger can resist her tears? 
Virginia will return with more philosophy than 
you, and will be quite surprised to find the 
garden so unfinished ; — she who could think of 
its embellishments in spite of all the persecu- 
tions of her aunt, and when far from her 
mother and from you. ' ' 

The idea of Virginia's speedy return reani- 
mated the drooping spirits of her lover, and he 
resumed his rural occupations, happy amidst 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 177 

his toils, in the reflection that they would soon 
find a termination so dear to the wishes of his 
heart. 

One morning, at break of day (it was the 
24th of December, 1744), Paul, when he arose, 
perceived a white flag hoisted upon the Moun- 
tain of Discovery. This flag he knew to be the 
signal of a vessel descried at sea. He instantly 
flew to the town to learn if this vessel brought 
any tidings of Virginia, and waited there till 
the return of the pilot, who was gone, accord- 
ing to custom, to board the ship. The pilot 
did not return till the evening, when he 
brought the Governor information that the sig- 
naled vessel was the Saint-Geran, of seven 
hundred tons burden, and commanded by a 
captain of the name of Aubin; that she was 
now four leagues out at sea, but would prob- 
ably anchor at Port Louis the following after- 
noon, if the wind became fair ; at present there 
was a calm. The pilot then handed to the 
Governor a number of letters which the Saint- 
Geran had brought from France, among which 
was one addressed to Madame de la Tour, in 
the handwriting of Virginia. Paul seized upon 
the letter, kissed it with transports, and plac- 
ing it in his bosom, flew to the plantation. No 
sooner did he perceive from a distance the 

12 Paul and Virginia 



178 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 



family, who were awaiting his return upon the 
Rock of Adieus, than he waved the letter aloft 
in the air, without being able to utter a word. 
No sooner was the seal broken, than they all 
crowded round Madame de la Tour, to hear 
the letter read. Virginia informed her mother 
that she had experienced much ill-usage from 
her aunt, who, after having in vain, urged her 
to a marriage against her inclination, had dis- 
inherited her, and had sent her back at a time 
when she would probably reach the Mauritius 
during the hurricane season. In vain, she 
added, had she endeavored to soften her aunt, 
by representing what she owed to her mother, 
and to her early habits ; she was treated as a 
romantic girl, whose head had been turned by 
novels. She could now only think of the joy 
of again seeing and embracing her beloved 
family, and would have gratified her ardent 
desire at once, by landing in the pilot's boat, 
if the captain had allowed her ; but that he had 
objected, on account of the distance, and of a 
heavy swell, which, notwithstanding the calm, 
reigned in the open sea. 

As soon as the letter was finished, the whole 
of the family, transported w T ith joy, repeatedly 
exclaimed, "Virginia is arrived!" and mis- 
tresses and servants embraced each other. 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 179 

Madame de la Tour said to Paul, — "My son, go 
and inform our neighbor of Virginia's arri- 
val." Domingo immediately lighted a torch 
of bois de ronde, and he and Paul bent their 
way towards my dwelling. 

It was about ten o'clock at night, and I was 
just going to extinguish my lamp, and retire to 
rest, when I perceived, through the palisades 
round my cottage, a light in the woods. Soon 
after I heard the voice of Paul calling me. I 
instantly arose, and had hardly dressed myself, 
when Paul, -almost beside himself, and panting 
for breath, sprang on my neck, crying, — "Come 
along, come along, Virginia is arrived. Let us 
go to the port ; the vessel will anchor at break 
of day." 

Scarcely had he uttered the words, when we 
set off. As we were passing through the woods 
of the Sloping Mountain, and were already on 
the road which leads from the Shaddock Grove 
to the port, I heard some one walking behind 
us. It proved to be a negro, and he was ad- 
vancing with hasty steps. When he had 
reached us, I asked him whence he came, and 
whither he was going with such expedition. 
He answered, "I come from that part of the 
island called Golden Dust ; and am sent to the 
port, to inform the Governor that a ship from 



180 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

France has anchored under the Isle of Amber. 
She is firing guns of distress, for the sea is 
very rough. " Having said this, the man left 
us, and pursued his journey without any fur- 
ther delay. 

I then said to Paul, — "Let us go towards the 
quarter of the Golden Dust, aad meet Virginia 
there. It is not more than three leagues from 
hence. " We accordingly bent our course to- 
wards the northern part of the island. The 
heat was suffocating. The moon had risen, 
and was surrounded by three large black cir- 
cles. A frightful darkness shrouded the sky ; 
but the frequent flashes of lightning discovered 
to us long rows of thick and gloomy clouds, 
hanging very low, and heaped together over 
the center of the island, being driven in with 
great rapidity from the ocean, although not a 
breath of air was perceptible upon the land. 
As we walked along, we thought we heard 
peals of thunder; but, on listening more at- 
tentively, we perceived that it was the sound 
of cannon at a distance, repeated by the echoes. 
These ominous sounds, joined to the tempest- 
uous aspect of the heavens, made me shudder. 
I had little doubt of their being signals of dis- 
tress from a ship in danger. In about half and 
hour the firing ceased, and I found the silence 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 181 

still more appalling than the dismal sounds 
which had preceded it. 

We hastened on without uttering a word, or 
daring to communicate to each other our mu- 
tual apprehensions. At midnight, by great ex- 
ertion, we*arrived at the sea-shore, in that part 
of the island called Golden Dust. The billows 
were breaking against the beach with a horri- 
ble noise, covering the rocks and the strand 
with foam of a dazzling whiteness, blended 
with sparks of fire. By these phosphoric 
gleams we distinguished, notwithstanding the 
darkness, a number of fishing canoes, drawn 
up high upon the beach. 

At the entrance of a wood, a short distance 
from us, we saw a fire, round which a party 
of the inhabitants were assembled. We re- 
paired thither, in order to rest ourselves till 
the morning. While we were seated near this 
fire, one of the standers-by related, that late in 
the afternoon he had seen a vessel in the open 
sea, driven towards the island by the currents ; 
that the night had hidden it from his view ; 
and that two hours after sunset he had heard 
the firing of signal guns of distress, but that 
the surf was so high, that it was impossible to 
' launch a boat to go off to her ; that a short time 
after, he thought he perceived the glimmering 



182 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

of the watch-lights on board the vessel, which, 
he feared, by its having approached so near the 
coast, had steered between the main land and 
the little island of Amber, mistaking the latter 
for the Point of Endeavor, near which vessels 
pass in order to gain Port Louis; and that, if 
this were the case, which, however, he would 
not take upon himself to be certain of, the ship, 
he thought, was in very great danger. An- 
other islander then informed us, that he had 
frequently crossed the channel which separates 
the isle of Amber from the coast, and had 
sounded it ; that the anchorage was very good, 
and that the ship would there lie as safely as 
in the best harbor. "I would stake all I am 
worth upon it," said he, "and if I were on 
board, I should sleep as sound as on shore. ' ' 
A third bystander declared that it was impos- 
sible for the ship to enter the channel, which 
was scarcely navigable for a boat. He was 
certain, he said, that he had seen the vessel at 
anchor beyond the isle of Amber; so that, if 
the wind arose in the morning, she could either 
put to sea, or gain the harbor. Other inhab- 
itants gave different opinions upon this subject, 
which they continued to discuss in the usual 
desultory manner of the indolent Creoles. Paul 
and I observed a profound silence. We re- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 183 

mained on this spot till break of day, but the 
weather was too hazy to admit of our distin- 
guishing any object at sea, everything being 
covered with fog. All we could descry to sea- 
ward was a dark cloud, which they told us was 
the isle of Amber, at the distance of a quarter 
of a league from the coast, On this gloomy 
day we could only discern the point of land on 
which we were standing, and the peaks of some 
inland mountains, which startedout occasionally 
from the midst of the clouds that hung around 
them. 

At about seven in the morning we heard the 
sound of drums in the woods : it announced the 
approach of the Governor, Monsieur de la Bour- 
donnais, who soon after arrived on horseback, 
at the head of a detachment of soldiers armed 
with muskets, and a crowd of islanders and 
negroes. He drew up his soldiers upon the 
beach, and ordered them to make a general 
discharge. This was no sooner done, than we 
perceived a glimmering light upon the water 
which was instantly followed by the report of 
a cannon. We judged that the ship was at no 
great distance and all ran towards that part 
whence the light and sound proceeded. We 
now discerned through the fog the hull and 
yards of a large vessel. We were so near to 



184 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

her, that notwithstanding the tumult of the 
waves, we could distinctly hear the whistle of 
the boatswain, and the shouts of the sailors, who 
cried out three times, Vive Ic Roi! this being 
the cry of the French in extreme danger, as 
well as in exuberant joy; as though they 
wished to call their prince to their aid, or to 
testify to him that they are prepared to lay 
down their lives in his service. 

As soon as the Saint-Geran perceived that we 
were near enough to render her assistance, she 
continued to fire guns regularly at intervals of 
three minutes. Monsieur de la Bourdonnais 
caused great fires to be lighted at certain dis- 
tances upon the strand, and sent to all the 
inhabitants of the neighborhood, in search of 
provisions, planks, cables, and empty barrels. 
A number of people soon arrived, accompanied 
by their negroes loaded with provisions and 
cordage, which they had brought from the 
plantations of Golden Dust, from the district of 
La Flaque, and from the river of the Rampart. 
One of the most aged of these planters, 
approaching the Governor, said to him, — "We 
have heard all night hollow noises in the 
mountain ; in the woods, the leaves of the trees 
are shaken, although there is no wind; the 
sea-birds seek refuge upon the land: it is cer- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 185 

tain that all these signs announce a hurricane. " 
4 * Well, my friends," answered the Governor, 
4 'we are prepared for it, and no doubt the 
vessel is also." 

Everything, indeed, presaged the near 
approach of the hurricane. The center of the 
clouds in the zenith was of a dismal black, 
while their skirts were tinged with a copper- 
colored hue. The air resounded with the 
cries of the tropic-birds, petrels, frigate-birds, 
and innumerable other sea-fowl, which not- 
withstanding the obscurity of the atmosphere,., 
were seen coming from every point of the 
horizon, to seek for shelter in the island. 

Towards nine in the morning we heard in 
the direction of the ocean the most terrific 
noise, like the sound of thunder mingled with 
that of torrents rushing down the steeps of lofty 
mountains. A general cry was heard of,, 
"There is the hurricane!" and the next 
moment a frightful gust of wind dispelled the 
fog which covered the isle of Amber and its 
channel. The Saint-Geran then presented her- 
self to our view, her deck crowded with people, 
her yards and topmasts lowered down, and her 
flag half-mast high, moored by four cables at 
her bow and one at her stern. She had 
anchored between the isle of Amber and the 



186 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

mainland, inside the chain of reefs which 
encircles the island, and which she had passed 
through in a place where no vessel had ever 
passed before. She presented her head to the 
waves that rolled in from the open sea, and as 
each billow rushed into the narrow strait where 
she lay, her bow lifted to such a degree as to 
show her keel; and at the same moment her 
stern, plunging into the water disappeared 
altogether from our sight, as if it were swal- 
lowed up by the surges. In this position, 
driven by the winds and waves towards the 
shore, it was equally impossible for her to 
return by the passage through which she had 
made her way; or, by cutting her cables, to 
strand herself upon the beach, from which she 
was separated by sandbanks and reefs of rocks. 
Every billow which broke upon the coast 
advanced roaring to the bottom of the bay, 
throwing up heaps of shingle to the distance of 
fifty feet upon the land ; then, rushing back, 
laid bare its sandy bed, from which it rolled 
immense stones, with a hoarse and dismal 
noise. The sea, swelled by the violence of the 
wind, rose higher every moment; and the 
whole channel between this island and the isle 
of Amber was soon one vast sheet of white 
foam, full of yawning pits of black and deep 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 187 

billows. Heaps of this foam, more than six 
feet high, were piled up at the bottom of the 
bay; and the winds which swept its surface 
carried masses of it over the steep sea-bank, 
scattering it upon the land to the distance of 
half a league. These innumerable white 
flakes, driven horizontally even to the very 
foot of the mountains, looked like snow issuing 
from the bosom of the ocean. The appearance 
of the horizon portended a lasting tempest ; the 
sky and the water seemed blended together. 
Thick masses of clouds, of a frightful form, 
swept across the zenith with the swiftness of 
birds, while others appeared motionless as 
rocks. Not a single spot of blue sky could be 
discerned in the whole firmament ; and a pale 
yellow gleam only lightened up all the objects 
of the earth, the sea, and the skies. 

From the violent rolling of the ship, what we 
all dreaded happened at last. The cables 
which held her bow were torn away: she then 
swung to a single hawser, and was instantly 
dashed upon the rocks, at the distance of half 
a cable's length from the shore. A general 
cry of horror issued from the spectators. Paul 
rushed forward to throw himself into the sea, 
when, seizing him by the arm, "My son, " I 
exclaimed, "would you perish?' ' "Let me go 



188 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 



to save her," he cried, "or let me die!" See 
ing that despair had deprived him of reason, 
Domingo and I, in order to preserve him, 
fastened a long cord around his waist, and held 
it fast by the end. Paul then precipitated him- 
self towards the Saint-Geran, now swimming, 
and now walking upon the rocks. Sometimes 
he had hopes of reaching the vessel, which the 
sea, by the reflux of its waves, had left almost 
dry, so that you could have walked round it on 
foot : but suddenly the billows, returning with 
fresh fury, shrouded it beneath mountains of 
water, which then lifted it upright upon its 
keel. The breakers at the same moment threw 
the unfortunate Paul far upon the beach, his 
legs bathed in blood, his bosom wounded, and 
himself half dead. The moment he had recov- 
ered the use of his senses, he arose, and 
returned with new ardor towards the vessel, 
the parts of which now yawned asunder from 
the violent strokes of the billows. The crew 
then, despairing of their safety, threw them- 
selves in crowds into the sea, upon yards, 
planks, hen-coops, tables, and barrels. At 
this moment we beheld an object which wrung 
our hearts with grief and pity ; a young lady 
appeared in the stern-gallery of the Saint- 
Geran, stretching out her arms towards him 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 189 

who was making so many efforts to join her. 
It was Virginia. She had discovered her lover 
by his intrepidity. The sight of this amiable 
girl, exposed to such horrible danger, filled 
us with unutterable despair. As for Virginia, 
with a firm and dignified mien, she waved her 
hand, as if bidding us an eternal farewell. 
All the sailors had flung themselves into the 
sea, except one, who still remained upon the 
deck, and who was naked and strong as Her- 
cules. This man approached Virginia with 
respect, and, kneeling at her feet attempted 
to force her to throw off her clothes, but 
she repulsed him with modesty, and turned 
away her head. Then were heard redoubled 
cries from the spectators, "Save her! — save 
her! do not leave her!" But at that moment a 
mountain billow, of enormous magnitude, 
ingulfed itself between the isle of Amber and 
the coast, and menaced the shattered vessel, 
towards which it rolled bellowing, with its 
black sides and foaming head. At this terrible 
sight the sailor flung himself into the sea ; and 
Virginia, seeing death inevitable, crossed her 
hands upon her breast, and raising upwards 
her serene and beauteous eyes, seemed an 
angel prepared to take her flight to Heaven. 
Oh, day of horror! Alas, everything was 



190 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

swallowed up by the relentless billows. The 
surge threw some of the spectators, whom an 
impulse of humanity had prompted to advance 
towards Virginia, far upon the beach, and also 
the sailor who had endeavored to save her life. 
This man, who had escaped from almost cer- 
tain death, kneeling on the sand, exclaimed, — 
44 Oh, my God! thou hast saved my life, but I 
would have given it willingly for that excel- 
lent young lady, who had persevered in not 
undressing herself as I had done. " Domingo 
and I drew the unfortunate Paul to the shore. 
He was senseless, and blood was flowing from 
his mouth and ears. The Governor ordered 
him to be put into the hands of a surgeon, 
while we, on our part, wandered along the 
beach, in hopes that the sea would throw up 
the corpse of Virginia. But the wind having 
suddenly changed, as it frequently happens 
during hurricanes, our search was in vain : and 
we had the grief of thinking that we should not 
be able to bestow on this sweet and unfortu- 
nate girl the last sad duties. We retired from 
the spot overwhelmed with dismay, and our 
minds wholly occupied by one cruel loss, 
although numbers had perished in the wreck. 
Some of the spectators seemed tempted, from 
the fatal destiny of this virtuous girl, to doubt 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 191 

the existence of Providence : for there are in 
life such terrible, such unmerited evils, that 
even the hope of the wise is sometimes shaken. 
In the meantime Paul, who began to recover 
his senses, was taken to a house in the neigh- 
borhood, till he was in a fit state to be removed to 
his own home. Thither I bent my way with Do- 
mingo to discharge the melancholy duty of pre- 
paring Virginia's mother and her friend for the 
disastrous event which had happened. When 
we had reached the entrance of the valley of 
the river of Fan-Palms, some negroes informed 
us that the sea had thrown up many pieces of 
the wreck in the opposite bay. We descended 
towards it and one of the first objects that 
struck my sight upon the beach was the corpse 
of Virginia. The body was half covered with 
sand, and preserved the attitude in which we 
had seen her perish. Her features were not 
sensibly changed, her eyes were closed, and 
her countenance was still serene ; but the pale 
purple hues of death were blended on her 
cheek with the blush of virgin modesty. One 
of her hands was placed upon her clothes ; and 
the other, which she held on her heart, was fast 
closed, and so stiffened, that it was with diffi- 
culty that I took from its grasp a small box. 
How great was my emotion when I saw that 



192 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

it contained the picture of Paul, which she 
had promised him never to part with while she 
lived! At the sight of this last mark of the 
fidelity and tenderness of the unfortunate girl, 
I wept bitterly. As for Domingo, he beat his 
breast, and pierced the air with his shrieks. 
With heavy hearts we then carried the body of 
Virginia to a fisherman's hut, and gave it in 
charge of some poor Malabar women, who 
carefully washed away the sand. 

While they were employed in this melan- 
choly office, we ascended the hill with trem- 
bling steps to the plantation. We found 
Madame de la Tour and Margaret at prayer ; 
hourly expecting to have tidings from the 
ship. As soon as Madame de la Tour saw me 
coming, she eagerly cried, — " Where is my 
daughter — my dear daughter, — my child?' ' My 
silence and my tears apprised her of her mis- 
fortune. She was instantly seized with con- 
vulsive stopping of the breath and agonizing 
pains, and her voice was only heard in sighs 
and groans. Margaret cried, "Where is my 
son? I do not see my son!" and fainted. We 
ran to her assistance. In a short time she 
recovered, and being assured that Paul was 
safe, and under the care of the Governor, she 
thought of nothing but of succoring her friend, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 193 

who recovered from one fainting fit only to 
fall into another. Madame de la Tour passed 
the whole night in these cruel sufferings, and 
I became convinced that there was no sorrow 
like that of a mother. When she recovered 
her senses, she cast a fixed, unconscious look 
towards heaven. In vain her friend and myself 
pressed her hands in ours ; in vain we called 
upon her by the most tender names; she 
appeared wholly insensible to these testimo- 
nials of our affection, and no sound issued from 
her oppressed bosom, but deep and hollow 
moans. 

During the morning Paul was carried home 
in a palanquin. He had now recovered the 
use of his reason, but was unable to utter a 
word. His interview with his mother and 
Madame de la Tour, which I had dreaded, 
produced a better effect than all my cares. A 
ray of consolation gleamed on the countenance 
of the two unfortunate mothers. They pressed 
close to him, clasped him in their arms, and 
kissed him : their tears, which excess of anguish 
had till now dried up at the source, began to 
flow. Paul mixed his tears with theirs; and 
nature having thus found relief, a long stupor 
succeeded the convulsive pangs they had 

13 Paul and Virginia 



194 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

suffered, and afforded them a lethargic repose, 
which was in truth, like that of death. 

Monsieur de la Bourdonnais sent to apprise 
me secretly that the corpse of Virginia had been 
borne to the town by his order, from whence 
it was to be transferred to the church of the 
Shaddock Grove. I immediately went down 
to Port Louis, where I found a multitude assem- 
bled from all parts of the island, in order to be 
present at the funeral solemnity, as if the isle 
had lost that which was nearest and dearest to 
it. The vessels in the harbor had their yards 
crossed, their flags halfmast, and fired guns at 
long intervals. A body of grenadiers led the 
funeral procession, with their muskets re- 
versed, their muffled drums sending forth slow 
and dismal sounds. Dejection was depicted in 
the countenance of these warriors, who had so 
often braved death in battle without changing 
color. Eight young ladies of considerable fam- 
ilies of the island, dressed in white, and bear- 
ing palm-branches in their hands, carried the 
corpse of their amiable companion, which was 
covered with flowers. They were followed by 
a chorus of children, chanting hymns, and by 
the Governor, his field officer, all the principal 
inhabitants of the island, and an immense 
crowd of people. 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 195 

This imposing funeral solemnity had been 
ordered by the administration of the country, 
which was desirous of doing honor to the vir- 
tues of Virginia. But when the mournful pro- 
cession arrived at the foot of this mountain 
within sight of those cottages of which she had 
been so long an inmate and an ornament, 
diffusing happiness all around them, and which 
her loss had now filled with despair, the funeral 
pomp was interrupted, the hymns and anthems 
ceased, and the whole plain resounded with 
sighs and lamentations. Numbers of young 
girls ran from the neighboring plantations, to 
touch the coffin of Virginia with their handker- 
chiefs, and with chaplets and crowns of flow- 
ers, invoking her as a saint. Mothers asked of 
Heaven a child like Virginia; lovers, a heart 
as faithful ; the poor, as tender a friend ; and 
the slaves as kind a mistress. 

When the procession had reached the place 
of interment, some negresses of Madagascar 
and Caff res of Mozambique placed a number of 
baskets of fruit around the corpse, and hung 
pieces of stuff upon the adjoining trees, accord- 
ing to the custom of their several countries. 
Some Indian women from Bengal also, and 
from the coast of Malabar, brought cages full 
of small birds, which they set at liberty upon 



196 PAUL AND. VIRGINIA. 

her coffin. Thus deeply did the loss of this 
amiable being affect the natives of different 
countries, and thus was the ritual of various 
religions performed over the tomb of unfortu- 
nate virtue. 

It became necessary to place guards round 
her grave, and to employ gentle force in re- 
moving some of the daughters of the neighbor- 
ing villages, who endeavored to throw them- 
selves into it, saying that they had no longer 
any consolation to hope for in this world, and 
that nothing remained for them but to die with 
their benefactress. 

On the western side of the church of the 
Shaddock Grove is a small copse of bamboos, 
where, in returning from mass with her mother 
and Margaret, Virginia loved to rest herself, 
seated by the side of him whom she then called 
brother. This was the spot selected for her 
interment. 

At his return from the funeral solemnity, 
Monsieur de la Bourdonnais came up here, fol- 
lowed by part of his numerous retinue. He 
offered Madame de la Tour and her friend all 
the assistance it was in his power to bestow. 
After briefly expressing his indignation at the 
conduct of her unnatural aunt, he advanced to 
Paul, and said everything which he thought 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 197 

most likely to soothe and console him. 
11 Heaven is my witness," said he, "that I 
wished to insure your happiness, and that of 
your family. My dear friend, you must go to 
France ; I will obtain a commission for you, 
and during your absence I will take the same 
care of your mother as if she were my own." 
He then offered him his hand; but Paul drew 
away and turned his head aside, unable to bear 
his sight. 

I remained for some time at the plantation 
of my unfortunate friends, that I might render 
to them and Paul those offices of friendship 
that were in my power, and which might alle- 
viate, though they could not heal the wounds 
of calamity. At the end of three weeks, Paul 
was able to walk ; but his mind seemed to droop 
in proportion as his body gathered strength. 
He was insensible to everything; his look was 
vacant ; and when asked a question, he made 
no reply. Madame de la Tour, who was 
dying, said to him often, — "My son, while I 
look at you, I think I see my dear Virginia. ' ' 
At the name of Virginia he shuddered, and 
hastened away from her, notwithstanding the 
entreaties of his mother, who begged him to 
come back to her friend. He used to go alone 
into the garden, and seat himself at the foot 



198 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

of Virginia's cocoa-tree, with his eyes fixed 
upon the fountain. The Governor's surgeon, 
who had shown the most humane attention to 
Paul and the whole family, told us that in 
order to cure the deep melancholy which had 
taken possession of his mind, we must allow 
him to do whatever he pleased, without contra- 
diction : this, he said, afforded the only chance 
of overcoming the silence in which he perse- 
vered. 

I resolved to follow this advice. The first 
use which Paul made of his returning strength 
was to absent himself from the plantation. 
Being determined not to lose sight of him I set 
out immediately, and desired Domingo to take 
some provisions and accompany us. The 
young man's strength and spirits seemed re- 
newed as he descended the mountain. He first 
took the road to the Shaddock Grove, and when 
he was near the church, in the Alley of Bam- 
boos, he walked directly to the spot where he 
saw some earth fresh turned up; kneeling 
down there, and raising his eyes to heaven, he 
offered up a long prayer. This appeared to me 
a favorable symptom of the return of his 
reason ; since this mark of confidence in the 
Supreme Being showed that his mind was 
beginning to resume its ' natural functions. 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 199 

Domingo and I, following" his example, fell 
upon our knees, and mingled our prayers with 
his. When he arose, he bent his way, paying 
little attention to us, towards the northern 
part of the island. As I knew that he was not 
only ignorant of the spot where the body of 
Virginia had been deposited, but even of the 
fact that it had been recovered from the waves, 
I asked him why he had offered up his prayer 
at the foot of those bamboos. He answered, — 
"We have been there so often." 

He continued his course until we reached the 
borders of the forest, when night came on. I 
set him the example of taking some nourish- 
ment, and prevailed on him to do the same; 
and we slept upon the grass, at the foot of a 
tree. The next day I thought he seemed dis- 
posed to retrace his steps; for, after having 
gazed a considerable time from the plain upon 
the church of the Shaddock Grove, with its 
long avenues of bamboos, he made a move- 
ment as if to return home; but suddenly 
plunging into the forest, he directed his course 
towards the north. I guessed what w r as his 
design, and I endeavored, but in vain, to dis- 
suade him from it. About noon we arrived at 
the quarter of Golden Dust. He rushed down 
to the sea-shore, opposite to the spot where the 



200 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

Saint-Geran had been wrecked. At the sight 
of the isle of Amber, and its channel, then 
smooth as a mirror, he exclaimed, — " Virginia! 
oh, my dear Virginia!" and fell senseless. 
Domingo and I carried him into the woods, 
where we had some difficulty in recovering 
him. As soon as he regained his senses, he 
wished to return to the sea-shore; but we con- 
jured him not to renew his own anguish and 
ours by such cruel remembrances, and he took 
another direction. During a whole week he 
sought every spot where he had once wandered 
with the companion of his childhood. He 
traced the path by which she had gone to in- 
tercede for the slave of the Black River. He 
gazed again upon the banks of the river of the 
Three Breasts, where she had rested herself 
when unable to walk further, and upon the 
part of the wood where they had lost their way. 
All the haunts, which recalled to his memory 
the anxieties, the sports, the repasts, the be- 
nevolence of her he loved, — the river of the 
Sloping Mountain, my house, the neighboring 
cascade, the papaw tree she had planted, the 
grassy fields in which she loved to run, the 
openings of the forest where she used to sing, 
all in succession called forth his tears; and 
those very echoes which had so often resounded 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 201 

with their mutual shouts of joy, now repeated 
only these accents of despair, — " Virginia! oh, 
my dear Virginia !" 

During this savage and wandering life, his 
eyes became sunk and hollow, his skin assumed 
a yellow tint, and his health rapidly declined. 
Convinced that our present sufferings are ren- 
dered more acute by the bitter recollection of 
bygone pleasures, and that the passions gather 
strength in solitude, I resolved to remove my 
unfortunate friend from those scenes which re- 
called the remembrance of his loss, and to lead 
him to a more busy part of the island. With 
this view, I conducted him to the inhabited 
part of the elevated quarter of Williams, which 
he had never visited, and where the busy pur- 
suits of agriculture and commerce ever occa- 
sioned much bustle and variety. Numbers of 
carpenters were employed in hewing down and 
squaring trees, while others were sawing them 
into planks ; carriages were continually passing 
and repassing on the roads; numerous herds 
of oxen and troops of horses were feeding on 
those widespread meadows, and the whole 
country was dotted with the dwellings of man. 
On some spots the elevation of the soil per- 
mitted the culture of many of the plants of 
Europe : the yellow ears of ripe corn waved 



202 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

upon the plains ; strawberry plants grew in the 
openings of the woods, and the roads were bor- 
dered by hedges of rose-trees. The freshness 
of the air, too, giving tension to the nerves, 
was favorable to the health of Europeans. 
From those heights, situated near the middle 
of the island, and surrounded by extensive 
forests, neither the sea, nor Port Louis, nor the 
church of the Shaddock Grove, nor any other 
object associated with the remembrance of Vir- 
ginia could be discerned. Even the moun- 
tains, which present various shapes on the side 
of Port Louis, appear from hence like a long 
promontory, in a straight and perpendicular 
line, from which arise lofty pyramids of rock, 
whose summits are enveloped in the clouds. 

Conducting Paul to these scenes, I kept him 
continually in action, walking with him in rain 
and sunshine, by day and by night. I sometimes 
wandered with him into the depths of the for- 
ests, or led him over untilled grounds, hoping 
that change of scene and fatigue might divert 
his mind from its gloomy meditations. But 
the soul of a lover finds everywhere the traces 
of the beloved object. Night and day, the 
calm of solitude and the tumult of the crowds, 
are to him the same ; time itself, which casts 
the shade of oblivion over so many other re- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 203 

membrances, in vain would tear that tender 
and sacred recollection from the heart. The 
needle, when touched by the loadstone, how- 
ever it may have been moved from its position, 
is no sooner left to repose, than it returns to 
the pole of its attraction. So, when I inquired 
of Paul, as we wandered amidst the plains of 
Williams, — "Where shall we now go?" he 
pointed to the north, and said, "Yonder are our 
mountains; let us return home. " 

I now saw that all the means I took to divert 
him from his melancholy were fruitless, and 
that no resource was left but an attempt to 
combat his passion by the arguments which 
reason suggested. I answered him, — "Yes, 
there are the mountains where once dwelt your 
beloved Virginia ; and here is the picture you 
gave her, and which she held, when dying, to 
her heart — that heart, which even in its last 
moments only beat for you. " I then presented 
to Paul the little portrait which he had given 
to Virginia on the borders of the cocoa-tree 
fountain. At this sight a gloomy joy over- 
spread his countenance. He eagerly seized the 
picture with his feeble hands, and held it to his 
lips. His oppressed bosom seemed ready to 
burst with emotion, and his eyes were filled 
with tears which had no power to flow. 



204 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

41 My son," said I, ' 'listen to one who is your 
friend, who was the friend of Virginia, and 
who, in the bloom of your hopes, has often en- 
deavored to fortify your mind against the un- 
foreseen accidents of life. What do you deplore 
with so much bitterness? Is it your own mis- 
fortunes, or those of Virginia, which affect you 
so deeply? 

"Your own misfortunes are indeed severe. 
You have lost the most amiable of girls, who 
would have grown up to womanhood a pattern 
to her sex, one who sacrificed her own inter- 
ests to yours ; who preferred you to all that 
fortune could bestow, and considered you as 
the only recompense worthy of her virtues. 

"But might not this very object, from whom 
you expected the purest happiness, have proved 
to you a source of the most cruel distress? 
She had returned poor and disinherited; all 
you could henceforth have partaken with her 
was your labor. Rendered more delicate by 
her education, and more courageous by her 
misfortunes, you might have beheld her every 
day sinking beneath her efforts to share and 
lighten your fatigues. Had she brought you 
children, they would only have served to in- 
crease her anxieties and your own, from the 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 205 

difficulty of sustaining at once your aged pat- 
ents and your infant family. 

6 'Very likely you will tell me that the Gov- 
ernor would have helped you ; but how do you 
know that in a colony whose governors are so 
frequently changed, you would have had others 
like Monsieur de la Bourdonnais? — that one 
might not have been sent destitute of good 
feeling and of morality? — that your young wife, 
in order to procure some miserable pittance, 
might not have been obliged to seek his favor? 
Had she been weak you would have been to be 
pitied; and if she had remained virtuous, you 
would have continued poor; forced even to coin 
sider yourself fortunate if, on account of the 
beauty and virtue of your wife, you had not to 
endure persecution from those who had prom- 
ised you protection. 

"It would still have remained to you, you 
may say, to have enjoyed a pleasure independ- 
ent of fortune, that of protecting a beloved be- 
ing, who, in proportion to her own helplessness, 
had more attached herself to you. You may 
fancy that your pains and sufferings would 
have served to endear you to each other, and 
that your passion would have gathered 
strength from your mutual misfortunes. Un- 
doubtedly virtuous love does find consolation 



206 PAUL AND VIRGINIA 

even in such melancholy retrospects. But Vir- 
ginia is no more ; yet those persons still live, 
whom, next to yourself, she held most dear; 
her mother, and your own : your inconsolable 
affliction is bringing them both to the grave. 
Place your happiness as she did hers, in afford- 
ing them succor. My son, beneficence is the 
happiness of the virtuous : there is no greater 
or more certain enjoyment on the earth. 
Schemes of pleasure, repose, luxuries, wealth 
and glory are not suited to man, weak, wan- 
dering, and transitory as he is. See how 
rapidly one step towards the acquisition of for- 
tune has precipitated us all to the lowest abyss 
of misery ! You were opposed to it, it is true ; 
but who would not have thought that Virgin- 
ia's voyage would terminate in her happiness 
and your own? an invitation from a rich and 
aged relation, the advice of a wise governor, 
the approbation of the whole colony, and the 
well-advised authority of her confessor, de- 
cided the lot of Virginia. Thus do we run to 
our ruin, deceived even by the prudence of 
those who watch over us : it would be better, 
no doubt, not to believe them, nor even to lis- 
ten to the voice or lean on the hopes of a de- 
ceitful world. But all men, — those you see 
occupied in these plains, those who go abroad 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 207 

to seek their fortunes, and those in Europe 
who enjoy repose from the labors of others, are 
liable to reverses! not one is secure from los- 
ing, at some period, all that he most values, — 
greatness, wealth, wife, children, and friends. 
Most of these would have their sorrow in- 
creased by the remembrance of their own im- 
prudence. But you have nothing with which 
you can reproach yourself. You have been 
faithful in your love. In the bloom of youth, 
by not departing from the dictates of nature, 
you evinced the wisdom of a sage. Your views 
were just, because they were pure, simple, and 
disinterested. You had, besides, on Virginia, 
sacred claims which nothing could countervail. 
You have lost her : but it is neither your own 
imprudence, nor your avarice, nor your false 
wisdom which has occasioned this misfortune, 
but the will of God, who has employed the 
passions of others to snatch from you the ob- 
ject of your love ; God, from whom you derive 
everything, who knows what is most fitting 
for you, and whose wisdom has not left you 
any cause for the repentance and despair 
which succeed the calamities that are brought 
upon us by ourselves. 

''Vainly, in your misfortunes, do you say to 
yourself, 'I have not deserved them/ Is it 



COS PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

then the calamity of Virginia — her death and 
her present condition that you deplore? She 
has undergone the fate allotted to all,— to 
high birth, to beauty, and even to empires 
themselves. The life of man, with all its pro- 
ject, may be compared to a tower, at whose 
summit is death. When your Virginia was 
born, she was condemned to die; happily for 
herself, she is released from life before losing 
her mother, or yours, or you; saved, thus, 
from undergoing pangs worse than those of 
death itself. 

4 'Learn, then, my son. that death is a ben- 
efit to all men ; it is the night of that restless 
day we call by the name of life. The diseases, 
the griefs, the vexations, and the fears, which 
perpetually embitter our life as long as we 
possess it, molest us no more in the sleep of 
death. If you inquire into the history of those 
men who appear to have been the happiest, 
you will find that they have bought their ap- 
parent felicity very dear; public consideration, 
perhaps, by domestic evils ; the rare happiness 
of being beloved, by continual sacrifices; and 
often, at the expiration of a life devoted to the 
good of others, they see themselves surrounded 
only by false friends, and ungrateful relations. 
But Virginia was happy to her very last mo- 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 209 

ment. When with us, she was happy in par- 
taking of the gifts of nature ; when far from 
us, she found enjoyment in the practice of vir- 
tue ; and even at the terrible moment in which 
we saw her perish, she still had cause for self- 
gratulation. For, whether she cas' her eyes 
on the assembled colony, made miserable by 
her expected loss, or on you, my son, who, 
with so much intrepidity, were endeavoring to 
save her, she must have seen how dear she was 
to all. Her mind was fortified against the fu- 
ture by the remembrance of her innocent life ; 
and at that moment she received the reward 
which Heaven reserves for virtue, — a courage 
superior to danger. She met death with a 
serene countenance. 

" My son! God gives all the trials of life to 
virtue, in order to show that virtue alone can 
support them, and even find in them happiness 
and glory. When he designs for it an illustri- 
ous reputation, he exhibits it on a wide the- 
ater, and contending with death. Then does 
the courage of virtue shine forth as an exam- 
ple, and the misfortunes to which it has been 
exposed receive forever, from posterity, the 
tribute of their tears. This is the immortal 
monur. .ent reserved for virtue in a world where 
everything else passes away, and where the 

14 Paul and Virginia 



210 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 



names, even of the greater number of kings 
themselves, are soon buried in eternal obliv- 
ion. 

"Meanwhile, Virginia still exists. My son, 
you see that everything changes on this earth, 
but that nothing is ever lost. No art of man 
can annihilate the smallest particle of matter; 
can , then, that which has possessed reason, 
sensibility, affection, virtue and religion be 
supposed capable of destruction, when the very 
elements with which it is clothed are imper- 
ishable? Ah! however happy Virginia may 
have been with us, she is now much more so. 
There is a God, my son ; it is unnecessary for 
me to prove it to you, for the voice of all na- 
ture loudly proclaims it. The wickedness of 
mankind lead them to deny the existence of a 
Being, whose justice they fear. But your 
mind is fully convinced of his existence, while 
his works are ever before your eyes. Do you 
then believe that he would leave Virginia with- 
out recompense? Do you think that the same 
Power which inclosed her noble soul in a form 
so beautiful, — so like an emanation from 
itself, could not have saved her from the waves? 
— that he who has ordained the happiness of 
man here, by laws unknown to you, cannot 
prepare a still higher degree of felicity for 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 211 

Virginia by other laws, of which you are 
equally ignorant? Before we were born into 
this world, could we, do you imagine, even if 
we were capable of thinking at all, have 
formed any idea of our existence here? And 
now that we are in the midst of this gloomy 
and transitory life, can we foresee what is be- 
yond the tomb, or in what manner we shall be 
emancipated from it? Does God, like man, 
need this little globe, the earth, as a theater 
for the display of his intelligence and his good- 
ness? — and can he only dispose of human life 
in the territory of death ? There is not, in the 
entire ocean, a single drop of water which is 
not peopled with living beings appertaining to 
man ; and does there exist nothing for him in 
the heavens above his head? What! is there 
no supreme intelligence, no divine goodness, 
except on this little spot where we are placed? 
In those innumerable glowing fires, — in those 
infinite fields of light which surround them, 
and which neither storms nor darkness can ex- 
tinguish, is there nothing but empty space and 
an eternal void? If we, weak and ignorant as 
we are, might dare to assign limits to that 
Power from whom we have received every- 
thing, we might possibly imagine that we were 
placed on the very confines of his empire, 



212 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 



where life is perpetually struggling with death, 
and innocence forever in danger from the 
power of tyranny ! 

"Somewhere, then, without doubt, there is 
another world, where virtue will receive its 
reward. Virginia is now happy. Ah ! if from 
the abode of angels she could hold communica- 
tion with you, she would tell you as she did 
when she bade you her last adieus, — 'O, Paul! 
life is but a scene of trial. I have been obedi- 
ent to the laws of nature, love and virtue. I 
crossed the seas to obey the will of my rela- 
tions ; I sacrificed wealth in order to keep my 
faith; and I preferred the loss of life to diso- 
beying the dictates of modesty. Heaven found 
that I had fulfilled my duties, and has snatched 
me forever from all the miseries I might have 
endured myself, and all I might have felt for 
the miseries of others. I am placed far above 
the reach of all human evils, and you pity me ! 
I am become pure and unchangeable as a par- 
ticle of light, and you would recall me to the 
darkness of human life! O, Paul! O, my be- 
loved friend! recollect those days of happiness, 
when in the morning we felt the delightful 
sensations excited by the unfolding beauties of 
nature ; when we seemed to rise with the sun 
to the peaks of those rocks, and then to spread 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 213 

with his rays over the bosom of the forests. 
We experienced a delight, the cause of which 
we could not comprehend. In the innocence 
of our desires, we wished to be all sight, to en- 
joy the rich colors of the early dawn ; all smell, 
to taste a thousand perfumes at once ; all hear- 
ing, to listen to the singing of our birds ; and 
all hearts, to be capable of gratitude for those 
mingled blessings. Now, at the source of the 
beauty whence flows all that is delightful upon 
earth, my soul intuitively sees, tastes, hears, 
touches, what before she could only be made 
sensible of through the medium of our weak 
organs. Ah ! what language can describe these 
shores of eternal bliss, which I inhabit forever! 
All that incite pow^r; and heavenly goodness 
could create to console the unhappy : all that 
the friendship of numberless beings exulting 
in the same facility can impart, we enjoy in 
unmixed perfection. Support, then, the trial 
which is now allotted to you, that you may 
heighten the happiness of your Virginia by 
love which will know no termination, — by a 
union which will be eternal. There I will 
calm your regrets, I will wipe away your tears. 
Oh, my beloved friend! my youthful husband! 
raise your thoughts toward the infinite, to en- 
able you to support the evils of a moment. ' ' • 



214 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

My own emotion choked my utterance. 
Paul, looking at me steadfastly, cried, — "She 
is no more! she is no more!" and a long faint- 
ing fit succeeded these words of woe. When 
restored to himself, he said, "Since death is a 
good, and since Virgina is happy, I will die, 
too, and be united to Virginia. " Thus the 
motives of consolation I had offered, only 
served to nourish his despair. I was in the 
situation of a man who attempts to save a 
friend sinking in the midst of a flood, and who 
obstinately refuses to swim. Sorrow had com- 
pletely overwhelmed his soul. Alas! the trials 
of early years prepare man for the afflictions 
of after-life ; but Paul had never experienced 
any. 

I took him back to his own dwelling, where 
I found his mother and Madame de la Tour in 
a state of increased languor and exhaustion, 
but Margaret seemed to droop the most, 
Lively characters, upon whom petty troubles 
have but little effect, sink the soonest under 
great calamities. 

"O my good friend, M said Margaret, "I 
thought last night I saw Virginia, dressed in 
white, in the midst of groves and delicious gar- 
dens. She said to me, 'I enjoy the most per- a 
feet happiness:' and then approaching Paul 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 215 

with a smiling air, she bore him away with 
her. While I was struggling to retain my son, 
I felt that I myself too was quitting the earth, 
and that I followed with inexpressible delight. 
I then wished to bid my friend farewell, when 
I saw that she was hastening after me, accom- 
panied by Mary and Domingo. But the strang- 
est circumstance remains yet to be told; 
Madame de la Tour has this very night had a 
dream exactly like mine in every possible re- 
spect." 

4 'My dear friend/' I replied, " nothing, I 
firmly believe, happens in this world without 
the permission of God. Future events, too, 
are sometimes revealed in dreams." 

Madame de, la Tour then related to me her 
dream, which was exactly the same as Mar- 
garet's in every particular; and as I had never 
observed in either of these ladies any propen- 
sity to superstition, I was struck with the singu- 
lar coincidence of their dreams, and I felt con- 
vinced that they would soon be realized. The 
belief that future events are sometimes revealed 
to us during sleep, is one that is widely 
diffused among the nations of the earth. The 
greatest men of antiquity have had faith in it; 
among whom may be mentioned Alexander 
the Great, Julius Caesar, the Scipios, the two 



216 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

Catos, and Brutus, none of whom were weak- 
minded persons. Both the Old and the New 
Testament furnish us with numerous instances 
of dreams that came to pass. As for myself, I 
need only, on this subject, appeal to my expe- 
rience, as I have more than once had good 
reason to believe that superior intelligences, 
who interest themselves in our welfare, com- 
municate with us in these visions of the night. 
Things which surpass the light of human 
reason, cannot be proved by arguments derived 
from that reason; but still, if the mind of man 
is an image of that of God, since man can 
make known his will to the ends of the earth 
by secret missives, may not the Supreme Intel- 
ligence which governs the universe employ 
similar means to attain a like end? One friend 
consoles another by a letter, which, after pass- 
ing through many kingdoms, and being in the 
hands of various individuals at enmity with 
each other, brings at last joy and hope to the 
breast of a single human being. May not in 
like manner the Sovereign Protector of inno- 
cence come in some secret way, to the help of 
a virtuous soul, which puts its trust in Him 
alone? Has he occasions to employ visible 
means to effect his purpose in this, whose 
ways are hidden in all his ordinary works? 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 217 

Why should we doubt the evidence of 
dreams? for what is our life, occupied as it is 
with vain and fleeting imaginations, other than 
a prolonged vision of the night? 

Whatever may be thought of this in general, 
on the present occasion the dreams of my 
friends were soon realized. Paul expired two 
months after the death of Virginia, whose 
name dwelt on his lips in his expiring mo- 
ments. About a week after the death of her 
son, Margaret saw her last hour approach with 
that serenity which virtue only can feel. She 
bade Madame de la Tour a most tender fare- 
well, "in the certain hope," she said, "of a de- 
lightful and eternal re-union. Death is the 
greatest of blessings to us, " added she, "and 
we ought to desire it. If life be a punishment, 
we should wish for its termination ; if it be a 
trial, we should be thankful that it is short. ' ' 

The Governor took care of Domingo and 
Mary, who were no longer able to labor, and 
who survived their mistresses but a short time. 

As for poor Fidele, he pined to death soon 
after he had lost his master. 

I afforded an asylum in my dwelling to 
Madame de la Tour, who bore up under her cala- 
mities with incredible elevation of mind. She 
had endeavored to console Paul and Margaret 



218 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 






till their last moments, as if she herself had no 
misfortunes of her own to bear. When they 
were no more, she used to talk to me every 
day of them as of beloved friends, who were 
still living near her. She survived them how- 
ever, but one month. Far from reproaching 
her aunt for the afflictions she had caused, her 
benign spirit prayed to God to pardon her, 
and to appease that remorse which we heard 
began to torment her, as soon as she had sent 
Virginia away with so much inhumanity. 

Conscience, that certain punishment of the 
guilty, visited with all its terrors the mind of 
this unnatural relation. So great was her tor- 
ment, that life and death became equally un- 
supportable to her. Sometimes she reproached 
herself with the untimely fate of her lovely 
niece, and with the death of her mother, which 
had immediately followed it. At other times 
she congratulated herself for having repulsed 
far from her her two wretched creatures, who, 
she said, had both dishonored their family by 
their groveling inclinations. Sometimes, at 
the sight of the many miserable objects with 
which Paris abounds, she would fly into a rage, 
and exclaim, "Why are not these idle people 
sent off to the colonies? 1 ' As for the notions 
of humanity, virtue, and religion, adopted by 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 219 

all nations, she said, they were only the inven- 
tions of their rulers, to serve political pur- 
poses. Then, flying all at once to the other 
extreme, she abandoned herself to superstitious 
terrors, which filled her with mortal fears. 
She would then give abundant alms to the 
wealthy ecclesiastics who governed her, be- 
seeching them to appease the wrath of God by 
the sacrifice of her fortune, — as if the offering 
to Him of the wealth she had withheld from 
the miserable could please her Heavenly 
Father! In her imagination she often beheld 
fields of fire, with burning mountains, wherein 
hideous specters wandered about, loudly call- 
ing on her by name. She threw herself at her 
confessor's feet, imagining every description 
of agony and torture; for Heaven — just 
Heaven — always sends to the cruel the most 
frightful views of religion and a future state. 
Atheist, thus, and fanatic in turn, holding 
both life and death in equal horror, she lived 
on for several years. But what completed the 
torments of her miserable existence, was that 
very object to which she had sacrificed every 
natural affection. She was deeply annoyed at 
perceiving that her fortune must go, at her 
death, to relations whom she hated, and she de- 
termined to alienate as much of it as she could. 



220 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

They, however, taking advantage of her fre- 
quent attacks of low spirits, caused her to be 
secluded as a lunatic, and her affairs to be put 
into the hands of trustees. Her wealth thus 
completed her ruin ; and, as the possession of 
it had hardened her own heart, so did its antici- 
pation corrupt the hearts of those who coveted 
it from her. At length she died ; and, to crown 
her misery, she retained reason enough at last 
to be sensible that she was plundered and de- 
spised by the very persons whose opinions had 
been her rule of conduct during her whole life. 
On the same spot, and at the foot of the 
same shrubs as his Virginia, was deposited the 
body of Paul ; and round about them lie the 
remains of their tender mothers and their faith- 
ful servants. No marble marks the spot of 
their humble graves, no inscription records 
their virtues; but their memory is engraven 
upon the hearts of those whom they have be- 
friended, in indelible characters. Their spirits 
have no need of the pomp, which they shunned 
during their life ; but if they still take an inter- 
est in what passes upon earth, they no doubt 
love to wander beneath the roofs of these 
humble dwellings, inhabited by industrious 
virtue, to console poverty discontented with its 
lot, to cherish in the hearts of lovers the sacred 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 221 

flame of fidelity, and to inspire a taste for the 
blessings of nature, a love of honest labor, and 
a dread of the allurements of riches. The voice 
of the people, which is often silent with regard 
to the monuments raised to kings, has given to 
some parts of this island names which will im- 
mortalize the loss of Virginia. Near the isle 
of Amber, in the midst of sandbanks, is a spot 
called The Pass of the Saint-Geran, from the 
name of the vessel which was there lost. The 
extremity of that point of land which you see 
yonder, three leagues off, half covered with 
water, and which the Saint-Geran could not 
double the night before the hurricane, is called 
the Cape of Misfortune ; and before us, at the 
end of the valley, is the Bay of the Tomb, 
where Virginia was found buried in the sand ; 
as if the waves had sought to restore her corpse 
to her family, that they might render it the last 
sad duties on those shores where so many 
years of her innocent life had been passed. 

Joined thus in death, ye faithful lovers, who 
were so tenderly united ! unfortunate mothers! 
beloved family! these woods which sheltered 
you with their foliage, — these fountains which 
flowed for you, — these hillsides upon which 
you reposed, still deplore your loss! No one 
has since presumed to cultivate that desolate 



222 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

spot of land, or to rebuild those humble cot- 
tages. Your goats are become wild; your 
orchards are destroyed ; your birds are all fled, 
and nothing is heard but the cry of the spar- 
row-hawk, as it skims in quest of prey around 
this rocky basin. As for myself, since I have 
ceased to behold you, I have felt friendless and 
alone, like a father bereft of his children, or a 
traveler who wanders by himself over the face 
of the earth." 

Ending with these words, the good old man 
retired, bathed in tears; and my own, too, had 
flowed more than once during this melancholy 
recital. 



THE END. 



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